[color=maroon][center][h1]Glenn Strivelyn[/h1][/center][/color]

Glenn was sitting on the bed in his studio apartment, glaring at what he'd been sculpting. It was wrought of clay, with wings. Apart from that, it was rather grotesque. Its chest appeared to be caved in, revealing a ribcage made of shattered teeth. Its head was shaped like a goblet, with clumps of felt hair hanging from the scalp. Its face was not something you could ever describe as human. Surrounding it were small copies of it, made of visible distortion. They each made a small noise, swelling to create the beat he was hearing.

After glaring at it a little longer he gives it a solid punch, fist sinking deep into its curled leg. Far from ruining it, it seemed to make it more grotesque. He wipes the clay stuck on his hand onto his pants, grabs a few ziplock bags with weed in, and heads to the pub. He was hoping he'd run into someone he knows, or some wine.

He walks across the slightly trashy garden. He thinks the trashiness gives it charm. There's one plant that looks as if its weeping when it rains. He'd need to sculpt it one day. Glenn pushes open the unremarkable door, to find the space inside rather empty. The rush would start soon, then.

He walks over to the bar. Jennie's bartending tonight, and Manny's sipping one of those expensive cycling beers they have here. Microbreweries, they call them. Glenn reckoned it was bullshit. He sat on a bar stool, and decided he'd buy himself some wine.

He slid some money across the counter, [color=maroon]"I'll take a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, if you have one. One of my sculptures sold, so I'm treating myself tonight. How're you two doing?"[/color]. The fact that he didn't really stop talking signaled that he was in a good mood tonight.