The musician sat there at the window as he always did, everyday. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, the guitar in his lap, his fingers picking at the strings of the guitar. He was trying so hard. Just one song. That's all he wanted, was to right one great song.

"I'm writing one great song before I…"

"Roger…I'm going to go out and film for a bit." Mark said as he walked out of his room, wrapping his scarf around his neck. He pulled his jacket on, then hoisted his messenger bag over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a little bit."

And with that, Mark left the loft.

Roger stared at the closed door for a moment, then turned his attention back out of the window and down at the ground, watching Mark walk off down the street. He let out a sigh as he watched his friend disappear.

"Finally…" Roger muttered as he cleared his throat, then picked a few different strings on the guitar. After finding the cords, he began to sing…

"…The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round! 'Round and 'round!"

-The end-

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I like poking fun at Roger.

I have a lot of stories like this, but their all in script form. -- And since hates scripts, I can't post them, and I'm being lazy about changing them.

So Yea.