Writing Prompts Week #22– May 28th, 2020

This week’s prompt:

Musician, lonely, cup

Musician, lonely, cup
David hated the nights. The long, lonely nights after a show. He watched the blinking neon lights outside of another window in another town he would never remember the name of. There was a thin fog of old moisture between the panes, and dead insects littered the sill. His cup set in a ring of condensation and a small spill from earlier. His case sat open on the floor with the guitar still in it.
All his dreams from when he was a kid were bull shit. The life of a musician was as lonely as any he feared growing up in rural Minnesota. Sure, fans loved his shows, people bought his albums, but it did nothing to fill his life. Barely enough to fill his bank account.
The stupid plastic cup, the kind found in hotel rooms across America, tipped and spilled the last of his drink onto the splotchy carpet. He was too tired or too sad to bother picking it up. Tomorrow would be a fresh bottle.
The lights blinked some more, and he closed his eyes. Behind his closed eyelids, the light became a second heartbeat, pulsing out of time with his own. A second beat, cold and impersonal. Impersonal.
His consciousness dropped into the void of sleep. His head leaned back against the back of the chair. He would wake with a stiff neck again tomorrow. He would shower, change into another stale outfit and get back on the road so he could do it all again. Like Groundhog day with no romance.
His one shot at romance left him. She said the life of a traveling musician was not for her. Turned out it was not for him either.
The lights pulsed on and David slept.

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