Confidence Exercise

I start unloading my clothes into the drawers and put some of the other things in the drawers of the bedside table. The lamp on top of the table is plain; a black plastic base with a white lampshade. My clothes mostly consist of unadorned attire, a dark purple sweatshirt I wore everywhere, jeans and a few pairs of shorts.

I have a few hundred dollars, but I'm positive it won't last me for very long. I take out my beaten and worn laptop and turn it on. I start searching up jobs around the area, mostly part-time jobs until I find something better. I was planning on being a writer, a creative writer, as a matter of fact. I don’t know how that can really be useful here; I want to write books, but I don’t think I will be good enough. I worry that it won't get me very far as far as money goes. I am also an artist, but not a great one, though always improving. Painting and sketching things out are a way I calm myself and pass the time. I'm thinking I can possibly play the piano, as a musician perhaps. That, I was actually good at. I haven't had the time to start writing songs, or even tried, but I did some poems. Whoever read them was highly impressed. Maybe I should look for a band to join…

Suddenly, I am startled by a noise of feet stomping up the stairs until they reached the second floor. I get up from the bed and crack the door open a bit. It's the other guy the landlord told me about. He has ruffled brown hair that looks like it would exceed qualification for a hair stylist’s model. That doesn't stop me from having this urge the mess up his hair. He has a square jawline and dark shining eyes. A gray t-shirt is strained under defined, unyielding muscles and he carries an electric guitar. How convenient. He doesn’t notice me at first, so I open the door wider until his gaze travels to me; he gives me a toothy smile and approaches me...confidently? I open the door fully and give him a minuscule, shy smile.

The End

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