ThaDonger
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
- Posts
- 964
Strings of a Puppet (Closed for BlondeAmbition4RP)
His legs bounce up and down silently. His knees rising and falling, faster and faster. Nails nonexistent as his teeth scrap over each one in an attempt to settle his brain as he sits against the back wall under the bright lights of the waiting room.
Walter Puppet, try growing up with that name, was your average musicians story. Left home at a young age, 19, to pursue his passion, or to get the hell out of his family's home. Either one you choose to believe, he accomplished it. Walked out the front door with nothing more than a guitar and the cloths on his back. Sure it was difficult, sleeping on sidewalks, crashing at strangers homes when he could, eating out of trash cans when he could not make enough money off playing on the streets. But no way was he going back to his parents home and begging to return. That was not going to happen.
Then one day, Walter finds himself attempting to hold a conversation with a fast talking individual, as he sat against a building, strumming the strings of his acoustic. It was hard for Walter to get a word in with this man. Sure he managed a word here and there "yeah"..."no". But not what you would call a textbook conversation. Then the man asked "Where is that song from?" Walter spoke right up, "I wrote it" feeling and sounding slightly offended.
The man dropped a small fold of money with a business card wrapped by a rubber band at Walters lap.
"Clean yourself up. Be there Monday morning." The man said, sliding his hands inside his slacks as he turns to walk away.
"And if I'm not?" Walter yells back, his self defense kicking in..
"You will be" the man says as he strolls down the sidewalk, continuing his day.
So here he sits, nervous as fuck! This is not Walter's scene.
He watches as people move from room to room, door to door. There must be a hundred conversations being held simultaneously. Phones ringing...many upon many phones ringing, louder and louder, almost screaming "Answer Me!!"
Walters eyes continue to dance over the room, teeth grinding over his nails.
"What the fuck am I doing here?"
His legs bounce up and down silently. His knees rising and falling, faster and faster. Nails nonexistent as his teeth scrap over each one in an attempt to settle his brain as he sits against the back wall under the bright lights of the waiting room.
Walter Puppet, try growing up with that name, was your average musicians story. Left home at a young age, 19, to pursue his passion, or to get the hell out of his family's home. Either one you choose to believe, he accomplished it. Walked out the front door with nothing more than a guitar and the cloths on his back. Sure it was difficult, sleeping on sidewalks, crashing at strangers homes when he could, eating out of trash cans when he could not make enough money off playing on the streets. But no way was he going back to his parents home and begging to return. That was not going to happen.
Then one day, Walter finds himself attempting to hold a conversation with a fast talking individual, as he sat against a building, strumming the strings of his acoustic. It was hard for Walter to get a word in with this man. Sure he managed a word here and there "yeah"..."no". But not what you would call a textbook conversation. Then the man asked "Where is that song from?" Walter spoke right up, "I wrote it" feeling and sounding slightly offended.
The man dropped a small fold of money with a business card wrapped by a rubber band at Walters lap.
"Clean yourself up. Be there Monday morning." The man said, sliding his hands inside his slacks as he turns to walk away.
"And if I'm not?" Walter yells back, his self defense kicking in..
"You will be" the man says as he strolls down the sidewalk, continuing his day.
So here he sits, nervous as fuck! This is not Walter's scene.
He watches as people move from room to room, door to door. There must be a hundred conversations being held simultaneously. Phones ringing...many upon many phones ringing, louder and louder, almost screaming "Answer Me!!"
Walters eyes continue to dance over the room, teeth grinding over his nails.
"What the fuck am I doing here?"
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