Numbers // weekman/weekeman

-Part 2-

-Dallon POV-

One of these days I'm just going to smash this violin over someone's fucking head. I don't know why, it just seems like it'd help me feel better. Maybe it'll wipe that look of annoyance off their face. That seems to be the only thing I get when I play my violin. Looks of annoyance. Only old people like this kind of stuff. Sometimes small children jump excitedly and try to get their parents' attention, then directing it at me. A lot of the time, the parents are all smiles and let their kids listen for a couple minutes. Other times, they frown and hurry away.

Hallelujah bored me after a while. It's a pretty song, and it's fun to play, but after you've played it for the past week, it gets old. People like the song though, so that's what matters. I pluck at the strings of the violin, sighing. Someone walks by, and looks at me for a couple seconds. Then they dig into their pocket and throw a few coins into the violin case. They hurry away before I get a chance to say thanks.

- - -

Hours pass. The sun is starting to set. There's no use being out here anymore. I look at the setting sun, the sky around it turning a palette of pinks, purples, and fiery oranges.

A few people pass me and when they stop coming, I start to get ready to leave this damn place. I kneel on the ground, starting to pack up the instrument.

I notice someone. They have a jacket on and the hood is pulled over their face. They walk by me and my violin and drop what looks to be a neatly folded dollar into the case. I look over my shoulder as they walk away and call out a small "thanks."

I put the violin in the case, over the collection of money I gathered through the day. Clicking the case closed, I stand and I start to make my way towards home.

- - -

I fumble with my keys as I unlock the door to my small home. It's nice and cozy. I place the violin on the couch and I fall in place beside it. I lean my head back, closing my eyes. When I open them again, I reach over and pull the instrument case in front of me, opening it to take out the coins and the few dollars.

After a while of counting coins, the last, folded dollar that was dropped into my case catches my attention. I unfold it, a small, white piece of paper drifting towards my foot. I pick it up. A number is written on it. What looks to be a phone number.

Who the hell would give me their phone number?

I'm not sure if I should be creeped out or flattered.

I read it carefully. Something about how it wasn't an accident that I had seen this and how they wanted me to text them. Not gonna lie, I read it a couple times just to make sure I'm not going insane. Without thinking, I reach over the small coffee table that locates itself in front of my couch, grabbing my phone. I type in the passcode and open the contacts app, clicking the small plus sign. I gaze at the small text that says "add phone number," and wonder what the hell I'm doing. Curiosity killed the cat, right? No matter. I need a little thrill in my life. What better way to do that than text a random number I don't even know? I'm a fucking genius!

I punch in the number, not bothering to put in any other information. Not that I could in the first place. I open up the messages app, my mind blanking at what to type. I sigh, frustrated and just send a simple "Hey?" Proper punctuation and all.

The three dots almost immediately appear as the person starts to type back, and I find myself itching with anticipation.