103 miles- Zayn rides the bus for
5 long hours.
He stretches off onto the sidewalk- legs becoming acquainted with the new ground- breath stolen by the fresh London air.
Pockets were rattling with pennies;
freshly brewed tea and nicely creased pants touched every single citizen; the sky above was shielded by rain clouds- a cooling sensation that made its way over he brown boys skin in the forth of goosebumps.
He felt properly rooted- he could feel the earth beneath him quiver in satisfaction; a land full of milk and honey for him to become nourished and such.
He takes one last deep breath, bright eyes opening up to the city- the people- the culture- the prosperity- the richness; this was no longer the England he knew- no longer the cousin Harlem, Bradford, the ghettos:
This was home.
---
A studio building located uptown is his destination.
He steps through the glass door- squeaky clean sneakers running along the floor while many men stood around; each of them holding white mugs full of morning brew with laughter at their lips.
Zayn walks up to the front desk- cash tossing in his pocket as he approaches her; the lady with the dark blonde hair and the ruby red lips- a question biting at his tongue.
"May I help you?" She asks; typing away on her computer keyboard.
Her name-tag read: Gigi
"I'm here to record my song," he says, handing Gigi the cash that's been hidden away in his jeans.
"Oh sir, I'm afraid I don't personally collect the payment from clientele, you'll have to take that up with your manager. Do you um... Have an appointment?"
"No, how much does that cost?" Zayn asks, tucking the money back into his pocket.
"Setting up an appointment is free, I'll just need your name and home address-"
"I don't have a home right now, can't I just go in and record my song?" He asks.
He's not familiar with business practices such as these; he's lost, confused, doubtful.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir," she says, pulling up the building security phone number.
"But, I've got the money, I do, see? I can pay for it, I can I-"
-in midst of his sporadic dialogue, a voice interrupts him.
"What seems to be the problem over here?" A man asks- a man with sweatpants and a bucket hat; he's smiling sweetly, a beautiful smile accompanied by crinkled eyes and thick brows.
"This young man has neglected to set up at appointment, so I've asked him to leave," she says proudly, earning a slight frown from the man.
Zayn looks to the man's chocolate colored eyes- they pitied him; they pitied him just enough to help him.
"Gigi, call my assistant and tell her I'll be in my office, grab this boy a cuppa and send him up," he says, turning to wink at Zayn with the mischievous glint in his eyes.
---
Thoughts? They're appreciated!
