ONNAXOFF

Chapter 31

Abel

They nod along foolishly as the mediocre track plays.

When did I get surrounded by all these people who blindly, or rather, deafly, love every fucking thing I make?

"I love it. That's some good shit right there." The producer grins proudly when playback ends.

He told me his name when we first met, but I forgot it. So I've casually been calling him "bro" and "man" to his face, but 'Shrek' in my head because he looks a little bit like an ogre.

"I hate it." I declare. "Let's delete this one."

"What?" Lamar groans. "No. Please no. Trust me, it's fine!"

"It's 'fine'?" I repeat the disgusting word after him. "Delete it."

"Wait, what don't you like about it? Maybe we can fix it..." Shrek tries.

"I don't like anything about it." I say simply.

Sometimes I record a song, lyrics and all, and it just sounds... wrong. This is one of those times. There's no saving this one. It doesn't need a different instrument to be added, or a few words changed, it needs to be scrapped.

I take the matter into my own hands, walking over to the computer to send the file to Trash where it belongs.

"Now what? We've been working on that all night." Lamar rubs his head in frustration.

"Have we really, Lamar?" I retort. "Because it feels a bit like I've been working all night and you've been in that couch, texting or Instagramming or whatever the fuck you're doing on that phone."

"You know what I mean." He grumbles.

"Whatever." I turn back to Shrek, who's slumped in his chair, still mourning the waste of his precious hours. "Get me another sample tomorrow and we'll start working on a new track."

"You want another beat by tomorrow?" He stares up at me as if I just asked for his first born child.

"What? You don't have any more?"

"Not any that can be ready by tomorrow."

"Alright." I nod decisively. "Then I'm going to have to find another producer for this project. Thank you very much for your hard work."

"What?! I'm fired?!" He stands up angrily.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you get paid for your time."

"You're fucking crazy, you know that?!" He shouts, kicking the rolling chair to the wall.

"Yeah." I nod blankly. I'm not interested in working with anyone who thinks that small anyway.

Silence fills the room after the guy slams the door on his way out.

Now Lamar and I are the only ones left. Cash decided earlier that he didn't need, or want, to be here.

"I'm just gonna go ahead and ask. Do you still want to do this?"

"Do what?" After seeing me consume half a bottle of gin and several blunts, he should know better than to ask me vague questions.

"Make this album!" He clarifies. "Because if you keep firing people and deleting every fucking song you record, it's not gonna happen."

"Of course I do." I narrow my eyes. Why else would I be working so hard?

"Then you need to get your shit together. Figure out what you want to do with it." He says seriously. "You know you can't make any 'epic' songs if you have no vision for the project."