Edwin Jones - 5 Year Plan to Musical Success - Year One

Year One

January 1st 2018,

A beer bottle falls from Edwin’s hand and into the gutter beneath him like the Times Square ball. The bottle busts open and sends green shards raining across black asphalt.

“You gave up didn’t you, you gave up on life!” Yells a patron of the establishment the 26-year-old man-child was just evicted from.

“Come at meah fucko!” Squelches our protagonist(?), trying and failing to pull himself from a gutter filled with treacherous green glass. “I’ve got a…farken…Music degree, and…and…where’s my beeeer!?”

Having already forgotten that he dropped his beer only seconds prior, the not-so-young-now squire decides it is time to begin the voyage home.

“yerr alll….cunts anyway” He yowls, gesticulating like a Broadway actor to an audience which is no longer there.

Stumbling home in the moonlight, the shitfaced graduate arrives at a crossroads, struggling to find the focus to read the two big green arrows in front of him.

Mel…

Melbong….

Melbourne! Says one of the way markers.

“Hnng” ponders the man “Didn’t I just fucken come from that cold fuck of a city?”

Many things await the mid-twenties fuckwit in the cobbled alleys of Melbourne. An infinity of lattes and macchiatos, old loves and burnt bridges, fashionably smouldering against the ever-grey skyline. Pondering this he looked up again.

Preth..

Pork…

Perth! reads the second sign, pointed at the other pole.

“I know that one!” He yelled, searching his pockets for a cigarette and remembering that he didn’t smoke.

Oh Perth, the wide open roads, the beautiful weather, the methamphetamine epidemic and the the disproportionate amount of people who dressed like Mac DeMarco.

Follow your heart, said the owls.