And So We Fall

San Francisco: A Janis One-Shot

just some notes:
this is a little one-shot I decided to write in janis's POV after I realized that she would no longer be a character. so, I think she deserved one last little oomph. this takes place in San Francisco in the spring of 1963, right after she moved there. hope this gives you guys a little more background on where she's coming from xxx

*Janis's POV*

I take in a deep breath of the fresh air. The streets are always empty at this time of morning. San Francisco is miles and miles away from Port Arthur. Miles and miles of distance that I need. Mom and Dad weren't too happy about me leaving, but I promised them I'd write and call whenever I could.

I'm staying with a new friend. His name is Ryan. He's a director, but that's about as much as I know. I do know that he's as fucked up as I am, so we get along fine.

I'm on my way to one of my favorite cafes. They aren't open yet - not at five am, no - but I just like to sit outside. The owner recently bought these potted tulips and they smell really nice.

I turn the corner onto Divisadero Street and suddenly hear someone strumming a soft tune on a guitar. I frown. Divisadero is a jazz neighborhood. Who the hell is playing guitar in a jazz neighborhood? I turn my head left and right, looking for the odd musician. My eyes soon focus on a young man sitting on the sidewalk outside The Mill, a guitar cradled in his hands. There's the culprit.

I make my way over to him, ready to ask what he thinks he's up to playing folk music on Divisadero at five in the morning. I come up close enough to read the cardboard sign perched next to him. Hungry.

"So you're hungry?" I ask him.

He looks up at me, startled, the song coming to an abrupt halt. His curly hair is too long and his clothes are too big. His glasses are crooked and smudged. His eyes are bright and his features are mischievous. Suddenly he breaks into a grin. "You read the sign."

"Did I?" I reply in a teasing tone and walk closer to him. "Why are you playing the guitar? All the street performers down here play trumpet or saxophone."

"I'm not a street performer. I'm a simple homeless man playing mediocre guitar, hoping for a pretty lady like you to walk along and lend me a quarter or two."

"Well, you're out of luck, man." I sit down next to him. "There's no pretty ladies around here." I pull out two quarters and toss them into his guitar case.

He's silent for a few moments, staring at the money. "So why are you out here so early?"

"I like tulips." I motion to the flower pots outside the door. "Better question is why are you? What's the point in playing for people's money if there's no people?"

The man just shrugs. "I play for myself sometimes. Makes the quiet streets a little less quiet." His eyes are locked on mine, an almost curious look on his face. "What's your name?"

"Janis Joplin." I reach over and shake his hand firmly.

"Daniel Kent. Call me Danny." He smiles crookedly back at me.

"I like Daniel better. It suits you." I grin and take out a cigarette from my pocket. I light it and take a deep drag, then exhale and watch the thick smoke curl into the air. "How long you been homeless, Daniel?"

"Almost a year."

"A year?" I exclaim, and he nods. "How come I've never seen you around?"

"Just moved up from Los Angeles. The music's a lot better here. People are a lot nicer, too. Can I?" He asks, motioning towards my cigarette. I hand it over to him, watching his cheeks hollow as he sucks in the smoke.