#engmano

He was in really bad shape last year, drinking alcohol had overtaken his need to eat most days but if he was too smashed to play he wasn't earning anything at all. So between smoking and drinking he chose the former.

This would be his last week in the States entirely. He booked a flight home to where his parents lived in Cotswolds, fully prepared to break the terms of his lease because fuck that hell hole.

It was too much, and he was ready to admit defeat, he had no friends, nor a long-term romantic partner and this music thing was not working out. What other reason did he have to be here other than habit or pride? At the very least he could work on finding a job in the field of study he graduated in at home.

Today was another day just like any other, he set up on the sidewalk in his usual spot, guitar case open to accept tips, battery powered amp plugged in, and bass guitar strapped to his back.

He actually had written a farewell song to the place he called home for two years, it fit the Autumn atmosphere.

He heard the clinking of change as people dropped coins into his guitar case as they passed by him on their afternoon commute. This was the busiest time in Times Square.

He'd gathered a small crowd, he never really cared to recognize any faces, but he met the gaze of a young man who was toward the back, his face scrunched into an angry scowl that could rival his own.

And when he was finished, the crowd gave him light applause and dropped in bills and various coins as they dispersed. The scowling man did not, although he'd stayed until the end.

"Hey! I see you back there."

The man, a short brunet, flinched before he met Arthur's gaze.

Arthur gestured to the open guitar case, giving it a few pats for good measure.

"Tch. I didn't think you were good enough to warrant me leaving a tip."

"What? Why did you stay to the end then?"

"I can do whatever I want, it's my money. And you didn't earn it." The man stuck his tongue out at him before he continued on his way.

Arthur blinked before he felt his blood start to boil.

What a little prick! Who the fuck does he think he is?

Arthur shook his head, he probably wouldn't see that little bastard again, plus he was leaving soon.

Arthur went through his usual set list and stayed out there until it was dark, which was earlier because of the season. He packed up and went home to boil himself a pack of instant noodles for dinner.

Arthur lived in a rundown apartment that was near a cafe, next to an abandoned apartment with no real view out the window, just the apartment next to it. It was a one bedroom apartment on the second floor. Arthur had seen only one rat so far but the traps he'd set out worked.

Arthur slid in an old DVD he had of Doctor Who season 10 to watch because he didn't much care for what was on local television today and he wasn't paying a fuck ton for cable. Maybe one day he would invest in getting Streamberry.

He sat on the couch in front of the television and scrolled through to an episode earlier in the season.

Arthur's phone pinged and he glanced at his phone. It was a text from João which he chose to ignore.

Arthur slurped his noodles.

~~~~~

The next day was just like yesterday, Arthur woke up, skipped breakfast, and got ready for the day.

Arthur forgot to wipe off his eyeliner before going to bed so it smudged on his pillow. He had to reapply it this morning after he shaved and brushed his teeth.

Getting a good look in the mirror, he’d recently dyed his hair blue after the green had grown all out, he’d just gotten used to the change. And his nose piercing wasn't infected, he tried to clean it as often as he could.

His clothes had piled up and he'd need to go downstairs to wash them, he had plenty of quarters. He threw on a robe and gathered up his laundry bag.

Luckily for him, no one was downstairs and he had the laundry room to himself. As he waited for his clothes to wash and then dry, Arthur scrolled on HetaTweet to pass the time, occasionally liking the updates on the new Doctor Who seasons and a few updates in UK News. Not so much politics, it made him upset.

When his clothes were done drying he retreated back to his flat, escaping any possible interaction with the other tenants.

Arthur was back on the streets of Times Square again this afternoon, performing for change.

He saw the same short brunet man from yesterday, he had on a jean jacket from what he noticed looking at him today.

When the song was over the man stuck around, a smug grin on his face, "Your songs still suck ass, I'm not paying you shit for that." He blew a raspberry at him before he walked away.

"Fuck off! Don't listen to me play then you twat!"

Arthur doesn't know what it was about that little bastard that got under his skin, but he felt the urge to pen a song about him out of spite.

And he does, because despite the minor inconveniences of everyday living, he's never had true motivation like this in a long time.

~~~~

He makes sure to catch the man's gaze this third time around, just to make it clear that this song was about him.

It was mostly about how arrogant and rude he was, and for him to give him what he owes him.

Once he finished the song with heavy breaths, he didn't attract much of a crowd, he received a few measly coins for it. It's not the best song he'd written, but the short brunet walked over anyway.

"You wrote that about me huh?"

"I figured as the attention loving self centered bastard you are, you wouldn't be able to resist paying me when you heard a song like that."

"That or you're just obsessed with me." The man crossed his arms with a smirk on his lips.

"I don't even know you! Drop your fucking tip in and fuck off."

"I'm flattered and all but nah. Bye you blue haired bastard." The man flipped him off before swiftly turning on his heels to continue down the street.

Arthur was flabbergasted, blood boiling hot. Three strikes, the man had three strikes and that was all of them.

"That's it! You better run because if I fucking catch you, I'm kicking your arse!" He yelled at the man's retreating figure.

He pulled off his guitar and stuffed it into his case; with it strapped on his back and the amp in hand, he took off in a full sprint. The man hadn't walked too far, Arthur maneuvered around the rush of crowds of people in Times Square to get closer to him.

The man was stopped at a crosswalk as Arthur neared him. The man glanced back and jumped, startled at seeing him, mouth agape and eyes wide. The man started mashing the crosswalk button.

Arthur glanced up to see the crosswalk light had changed and the man was sprinting across the street, Arthur kept his eyes on him as he was a few meters away. Running on pure adrenaline and a taco from lunch earlier, he kept pace with him.

"Won't you give up? You're crazy!" The man yelled back at him.

Maybe so, but beating this man's arse would shut him up real quick and give him the satisfaction of having done it himself.