[color=9e0b0f][centre][h1]Marcus Ainsworth[/h1][/centre][/color]
[hr]
Marcus sat at a table outside the cafe, sipping slowly at his coffee and eating his bacon and egg roll, while watching and listening to the talented street performer. Despite how nervous he obviously was, he was good. The calm, relaxing vibe of the music helped Marcus to think, to process the shitshow that had been the last few weeks of his life. He hadn't been able to think critically about it until that point. It was too raw, the wounds too fresh. The only feelings it produced were hopelessness and anger. But the music helped him to steady his thoughts and really think. 

Marcus had lived in Sol for about a year and a half. He moved there from a small town in the middle of nowhere with his childhood sweetheart Hannah. They were madly in love, and although things were rough, they made it work. While Marcus focused on his music, Hannah worked. Money was tight, but it was doable. At least, that’s what he thought.

[i]The memory was still clear as day. Marcus had come home one afternoon after doing some busking to find Hannah standing there with bags packed. [color=9e0b0f]“Hey babe. Are we going somewhere?”[/color] He asked optimistically, before he saw the look on Hannah’s face.
“No… I am… I’m sorry Marcus, I can’t do it anymore. I’m sick of providing for you, while you do nothing… It’s time for you to grow up. Without me.”[/i]

That sentence played over and over in Marcus’ head. Ironically, because of it, Marcus had literally done nothing for the past two weeks. He couldn’t bring himself to leave his room, let alone the apartment. Until today. It actually felt good to be out doing something, and to think clearly for once without the stench of alcohol, fast-food and body odour. 

When he finished eating, he got up and walked into the music store, giving the street performer a slight smile as he walked past. He didn’t let himself go to the guitar section, because he knew that he’d just make himself sad looking at all the guitars he couldn’t afford. Instead, he just went straight to the counter to get a set of new strings for his acoustic guitar. He scrounge around his pockets for the loose change to pay for them, which attracted a few looks, and left. He noticed the guitarist was no longer there, and was instead sitting by a table, fiddling with a prosthetic leg. Marcus approached him with shy smile. 

[color=9e0b0f]“Hey, uh, sorry to bother you…”[/color] He mumbled softly, his voice croaky from barely using it for two weeks. [color=9e0b0f]“I saw you playing earlier… You, uh… You’re really good. Are you in a band, or somethin’?”[/color]

[@Pilatus][@LetMeDoStuff]