Harley picked a grape from her drink and threw it playfully at the stranger's chest. "Duh dude! We are in the middle of an economic slump and surrounded by morons. Schools are more interested in the pigheaded profession of sports. It doesn't mean artists are dead though. We're still out there. We still fight to be seen, to be heard, and to be understood. It isn't the artist fault that the world has its head shoved up it's own tailpipe." Quinn rolled her eyes at the very notion. Flipping her braid off her shoulder, she reached into her drink and popped an orange slice into her mouth. She still didn't believe this guy was who he claimed, but she couldn't drop a debate on art when it dangled itself in her face like this.