on friday, it was showtime.
the atmosphere of the cafe that night was very cozy. there were fairy lights everywhere and tipsy people at all the tables.
Jacques jogs onto the small stage he built. "good evening, ladies, gentlemen. thank you for coming out to our first open mic. without further ado, our first act."
there were poets. and lyrical dancers. some drunk women sang to their boyfriends, one drunk man also sang Bloom by Troye Sivan to his boyfriend, to which I cheered. there were angsty rappers. there were some people who merely ranted.
"thank you once again for turning up tonight. our last act is a good friend of mine and her voice is prettier than the moon tonight. ladies and gentlemen, Janet."
YOU ARE READING
· artist ·
Teen Fiction"I am not a word, I am not a line. I am not a girl that could ever be defined." or, the story of a girl who has nothing more than an iPod, a diary, and a dream. until she meets the boy in the cafe and the girl from the studio.
