Alfred walked the streets of NYC early on a Sunday morning. He sipped the Starbucks Cappucino he had just bought not too long ago. He dressed in ripped jeans, a back AC~DC tee, red converse, a large brown jacket,a red scarf, and a black beanie. His glasses were big and black. A guitar sat on the left side of his back, a black book-bag on the other.
He sighed as he reached the cafe. He had come all the way from Kansas to New York City to make it big with his music. He just had one major issue: he couldn't write music. Sure, he was great at doing covers for different songs, but there was no way he could write his own. After getting the balls to do so, he walked in to the small Cafe: Stacks. It was really early, so there were only a few people there. Alfred only recognized one of them: The old French man who sat in the back and watched him play every morning. His name was Francis. He always dressed real classy, and had long blonde hair that was always tied back in a ribbon to match his suit. Alfred politely waved, and Francis waved back. With a smile, Alfred adjusted a mic, and set up his stool and guitar before sitting down.
He strummed a few chords, then cleared his throat before starting to sing:
"I'm in love with a girl I hate, she enjoys pointing out, every bad thing about me.
I'm in love with a traitor and a sceptic. I'd trade her I'd trade her in a second."
He continued to sing in his beautiful voice. When he was done, Francis clapped for him. Alfred blushed a little and continued to play until his break that afternoon. He proceeded to order a coffee and sat down at the table closest to were he sang so he could keep an eye on his guitar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door open up.
An average height man walked in. He had blonde hair and thick eyebrows. He wore a black leather jacket, red high tops, black skinny jeans, and a red bandana around his neck. Alfred felt his heart stop and beat again. What the hell? He realised the man had a guitar on his back, an electric one. He was carrying the amp at his side. Wasn't that heavy? The man set his stuff down near where Alfred played. Alfred stood up and went to introduce himself.
"Do you play here on my breaks?" Alfred asked. He was nervous for some reason.
"Eh?" He asked. "I must if you're the bloke who plays after me."
The man was a Brit.
"I'm Alfred."
"Arthur. Nice to meet you."
"You too. Nice Guitar." He said as he watched Arthur take it out. It had the British flag on it.
"Your's isn't too bad either."
Alfred shrugged. "Thanks. What kind of stuff do you play?
"My own stuff."
Alfred was in awe. This guy was a god compared to him. He couldn't wait to hear him play.
