It's smaller than the previous one, given the loss of his ROMAC allowance, but that's no big deal. It fits the three or four boxes containing all his things, a careful pile of instrument cases in one corner, and a cluster of furniture in the middle of the front room. ROMAC wouldn't need the furnishings they'd provided him now, he figures. Even if they do, he doesn't care. Some of his park friends helped him carry some of it up, but they've all gone now, with the promise that he'll arrange it all into something like an actual living space himself tomorrow.
Which is why the faint burst of sound startles him up from his spot on the floor where he'd been picking through a box. It's quiet, but it's present; he turns his head but can't quite figure where it's coming from. The place is definitely empty. He wouldn't be able to hear his neighbors through the walls; maybe their speakers, but he knows the difference between records and people. This sounds like someone here, or almost here. Maybe out in the audience?
"Hello?" he ventures aloud, stepping forward to peer down the hall. The sight of it empty is not surprising.
(If this place is haunted he might have to forgo that deposit.)
September 12 | The Balladeer's apartment | late evening?
It's smaller than the previous one, given the loss of his ROMAC allowance, but that's no big deal. It fits the three or four boxes containing all his things, a careful pile of instrument cases in one corner, and a cluster of furniture in the middle of the front room. ROMAC wouldn't need the furnishings they'd provided him now, he figures. Even if they do, he doesn't care. Some of his park friends helped him carry some of it up, but they've all gone now, with the promise that he'll arrange it all into something like an actual living space himself tomorrow.
Which is why the faint burst of sound startles him up from his spot on the floor where he'd been picking through a box. It's quiet, but it's present; he turns his head but can't quite figure where it's coming from. The place is definitely empty. He wouldn't be able to hear his neighbors through the walls; maybe their speakers, but he knows the difference between records and people. This sounds like someone here, or almost here. Maybe out in the audience?
"Hello?" he ventures aloud, stepping forward to peer down the hall. The sight of it empty is not surprising.
(If this place is haunted he might have to forgo that deposit.)