#gorchat

{♫}—Gordon sat on a bench in the park, his guitar sitting in its case on the ground in front of him.  He had done a very poor day’s work in the park today.  Either the fact that no one wanted to toss coins in a case today or because he wasn’t playing his sad songs very well, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he’d pretty much made up his mind and it showed on his face that he wasn’t enjoying the day.

       “Seat’s taken.”  He grumbled softly when someone took a seat next to him.  He didn’t even look their way.

{♫}—Gordon sat on a park bench with his guitar case.  He hated that he had absolutely no inspiration to play anything, especially when he was so strapped for cash.  He was lost in thought for a moment until he realized someone was sitting next to him.

    “Oh uh, sorry, this isn’t in your way is it?”  He asked as he pulled his guitar closer to him.  “I didn’t mean to take up so much space.  Sorry.”  The Jersey boy said.

{♫}—Gordon crushed a cigarette under his heel, before taking a deep breath.  He had just finished a set at some no name indie festival.  He didn’t really think he’d done very well and was wanting to get out of there as quick as he could.  Unfortunately, as he was leaving he ran directly into someone, falling over and dropping his guitar.

    “Fuck!  Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you, I wasn’t paying attention.”  He said, helping the other to their feet.  “Are you alright?”  He asked.

{♫}-The musician adjusted his guitar, raising one leg slightly as he sat on the park bench. He tilted his head, arching a brow at the other person, his bags under his eyes visible.

{♫}—Gordon sat on the stone park bench that had become something of a regular spot for him. He had never really envisioned himself becoming a street musician, especially not one of the ones that sat in the park playing for tips, but yet here he was doing just that, letting the notes of Ingrid Michaelson’s Giving Up fly from his guitar while he sang the chorus.

    “Cause I am giving up on making passes and/ I am giving up on half-empty glasses and/ I am giving up on greener grasses,” he sang, not really meaning for it to sound so downbeat, but he couldn’t help it. “I... am giving... up.” 

    He found it hard to look at what people might be watching, he always feared he’d find judgement in their eyes. Yet, for some reason - he decided to take a chance and glance up, his eyes connecting with someone who’d been watching who knows how long. Gordon never really knew, he only ever cared about the money he’d made at the end of the night. They were the only one watching - whether a larger crowed had came and gone, or if this person had been his only audience, he didn’t know. He chanced a half-hearted smile that barely made it to his eyes, continuing on with the next verse.

{♫}—Gordon settled on a bench, adjusting the guitar in his arms. He took a deep breath before strumming a few notes. He sat there for a moment, sighing and settling back against the bench. He was having trouble motivating himself.

    “Hey,” he said, stopping someone passing by. “What genre do you like?” He asked, strumming his guitar once. “Don’t even have to pay me, just need to get started.”

{♫}—Gordon sat on a park bench and strummed his guitar, tuning it as he went. Once it was tuned, he gave it an experimental strum. His hand froze after that. He seemed to stiffen, before cursing under his breath.

{♫}—Admittedly it had been a while since Gordon had done this, namely playing in the park. He seemed almost nervous in the few minutes it took him to tune his guitar and set up his case for tips. When he was ready he took a quick survey of the few people in the hub of the park, before beginning to strum his guitar.

    “If only could change, but it doesn’t come around,” he began to sing, eyes closed so as not to worry about whether or not he was actually getting patrons, “this jealousy it taints, everything that I’m about - if only I could be like you, but it doesn’t come around, no... no no,” although he was nervous about how well he would do in terms of money, he wasn’t as concerned with how good he sounded - he was sure he sounded decent enough for public performance.