Page 1 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

1

Kelsey

Heavy gym bag slung over my shoulder, I run for the bus stop. The bag bumps against my hip. I’m going to be late for my shift at The Scarlet Club, and Gary is going to send me packing.

Gary ‘The Sleaze’ can suck balls, but unfortunately, I need this job since my dwindling savings hit the point of no return months ago and my landlord who was understanding when I couldn’t afford my rent the first couple times posted an eviction notice on the door of my apartment while I was sleeping.

The bus starts to pull out.

“No!” I shout, waving an arm in the air in the hopes the bus driver will notice and be kind. I run faster. “Wait for me!”

The bus merges with the traffic.

My steps slow. There really is no point running. It’ll be fifteen minutes until the next one on my route. Let’s hope Gary’s in a good mood tonight. This job really is the only thing between me and the streets at this point.

If I can just make enough money to get out of L.A. and far enough away from the crap that keeps following me... I can start fresh.

I dump my bag on the bench inside the bus shelter and try to catch my breath. It’s time, isn’t it? This is the point where I finally admit being stubborn isn’t going to change anything. It’s not the giant screw you my anger made me want it to be. There is no keeping the life I used to have. I’m only hurting myself by fighting the inevitable. But my sense of self... my attitude is all I have left now.

My eyes burn at the utter bleakness of my position. I had hoped tonight I could make enough in tips to book that bus ticket. But Gary won’t be in a good mood when I show up late. I haven’t seen that old grouch wear even half a smile in the weeks I’ve been working at the club.

So I’ll hitch-hike. And hope I don’t end up in some serial killer’s truck.

My gaze catches on the posters that have been plastered within the shelter. Lethal gray eyes, a near perfect jawline, and an annoyingly arrogant smirk stare back at me. Of course, his face is the first thing that catches my attention. Of course, posters of his band are here. They are everywhere. L.A. Riot is all anyone is talking about. Of course he would witness this moment of total hopelessness. How fitting.

The burning behind my eyes disappears. My blood turns to lava instead. He’s been behind every single event that’s happened in the last two years.

If I ever see him again, I’ll punch him in his pretty face. No, I’ll... kick him in the balls. Smash his beloved guitar. Make him hurt the way he made me hurt. The way I still do whenever L.A. Riot is on the radio.

I unzip my gym bag and go through it until I find a thick black permanent marker. I uncap it and give the frontman a short black mustache just under his nose, and when that doesn’t cool me off, I draw a giant schlong with the head at his lips. Dot lines where it’s ejected its contents onto his face.

It’s immature of me, but after what he did... drawing on his stupid jerk face in his stupid L.A. Riot World Tour posters whenever I run across them can hardly be considered payback.

Blacklisted from every major record label in the country. And outside of it. Not even the smaller labels who hired me in the beginning would keep me on for longer than a couple of weeks. Once they got the phone call, that was it... I’d be packing up my desk and searching the job sites again.

The rage starts to fade, my emotions turning far bleaker. Riot is toxic, but a part of me still misses when we were friends. And the fact that I miss him makes me want to punch him in the face.

Things went from bad to much worse after him.

And they’re not getting better any time soon. It’s all I can do to keep my chin up and put one foot in front of the other most of the time.

Eventually the next bus comes and I climb on it. A man sits down next to me as soon as I’m situated. He smells like dirty sweat, Axe body spray, and creep. He certainly stares at my legs like a creep.

I shift to the far edge of my seat, press up against the window. He better not try anything. Gary doesn’t worry too much about his girls, as long as the clientele pays, but I’m not at work yet.

The man grunts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him pressing a hand to his crotch. Fucking gross. The whole time he’s staring at me.

The bus stops and people get off. Others get on. Seats become vacant. But moving means getting past him, and that’s its own problem.

It starts to rain.

He keeps staring at me. It’s too much. Fuck this creep.

Grabbing my bag, I leap to my feet.

He leers at me as I push past him. Thrusting out his empty hand, he tries to grab me.