The Air I Breathe - Analogical

Chapter One

Logan shuts the door to his apartment with a sigh, letting his head knock gently against the wood as he collects his thoughts. "How am I supposed to find a single person worth interviewing in all of Manhattan...in all of New York?!" He feels the weight of possibility on his shoulders; its heaviness wearing down his posture. Logan slouches, yearning for brevity in his next assignment.

As he pushes away from the door he hears a clatter from the kitchen accompanied by a loud yelp. With a raised brow Logan pursues the sound, catching his hand on the doorway before leaning in. His eyelids droop, unimpressed, as his roommate, Patton, stands (or rather cowers) by the sink with an abnormally smokey pot under the faucet.

"There wasn't a fire!" Patton proclaims, exaggeratedly fixing his stance to look as composed as possible. The low hiss coming from the pot seemed to argue with him. With a weary chuckle, Patton tosses the rather charred oven mitts he was wearing onto the counter, brushing himself off. "Uh... how was your day, Logan?" Patton asks with a beaming grin. Logan sighs, taking off his glasses and pinching his brow.

"Well, it's been okay. Although, you burning down the apartment might've put a damper on things." Logan walks to the sink, turning off the faucet with bored eyes. This wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence. Patton could win Worst Cooks in America with his eyes closed; he had a reputation for close calls like this. It was a wonder the apartment wasn't charred.

"There wasn't a fire..." Patton reiterates before shaking his head, his hands mirroring the movement. "That's beside the point! Why was it only okay?"

Logan pushes a breath through his nose, picking up the pot by its lukewarm handle. "I am struggling with my assignment," he says as he dumps the contents into the sink, eyeing it strangely. "Patton what were you trying to cook?" he asks slowly, looking at the lump of charcoal sitting in the damp sink. Logan sets the pot aside as Patton joins him, also looking at the burnt mass. Patton laughs nervously, scratching his neck. "It was supposed to be spaghetti. I got distracted by other things." Patton grabs the blackened pasta, tossing it into the trash. "Anyway, what about this assignment has you held up? You never struggle to write, Lo."

"I have too much freedom."

Patton makes a face, "I think you might be the only person to struggle with freedom."

Logan laughs at that, "I suppose I am. It's just..." He gestures with his hands as if he were conjuring a sentence, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line. "I need to find a talent to interview. The problem with that is I have no idea what people like. Modernity isn't my strong suit." That wasn't a lie either. Logan, as he found it, was out of touch with trends. He appreciated classics and hobbies most would consider boring. Orchestras, biographies, a quiet room.

Silence wasn't exactly vogue.

Patton scoffs, "Well I can help with that!" Logan perks at that, his expression encouraging Patton to continue. Patton, with a giddy pep to his step, grabs Logan's hand and starts for the front door. "There's this karaoke bar I go to, it's called Forbidden Fruit! They do sets on Fridays because the owner likes to give artists the chance to play for actual audiences. Lucky for you-"

"-It's Friday!" Logan finishes, grabbing his coat off the rack as Patton opens the door.

Patton nods enthusiastically, "This is exactly what you need! People love music and everyone connects with an underdog." Patton bumps the door closed with his hip, trotting down the hall backward to keep looking at Logan. "I can see it now: an upcoming artist from downtown. It's perfect!"

Logan could see the vision too, almost too clearly. He didn't believe in destiny, not even in the slightest, but this was definitely his golden ticket.