Jul. 2nd, 2017

finlay_flynn: (boho)
I forget sometimes that not everyone in this business was bankrolled by Willy Silver. I mean, I wouldn't be shocked if they were, but they aren't, which I'm sure is why this man from NBC keeps going on about how much I'd make per episode if I'd just do a read for this sitcom they've got in the works. He's barely even mentioned the plot, but he's quoted those digits so many times that if he told me it was a show about accountants, I'd believe him at this point.

I'm not interested, I tell him, because that's the truth.

They sell these massive pretzels on nearly every corner, and I swear I've had five of them since I got here. They're not even that good, to be honest, they just smell so enticing, and there's something deeply satisfying about crunching little rocks of salt. It takes my mind off everything for a while, and boils the whole universe down to something delightfully simple. Food good, summer nice, city big.

By the time the sun starts to set I'm home again. I consider hitting the pub, but I find solitude far more inviting tonight. Instead I sit and sketch in a cheap notebook I picked up. I start with bits of the city I can see from my window, but eventually I'm drawing familiar faces from home. Phouka, Winter, Robin and Sunny... Even Felix makes an appearance. I start to draw Will, but I can't focus on his face. In the end I sketch a huge cloud of hair before putting the notebook to one side and flopping onto the bed.

It feels like it's been such a long week.

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Finlay Alexander Flynn

August 2017

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