Knox.

Warnings: Dark and sarcastic, just the way I like it.

Music: Losing All Control - Rooney.

Enjoy.

There's this café, at the corner of Coroner Drive and Meaden Lane. It's one of those cafés open till late at night, and also one of those cafés that holds poetry readings, comedians, authors, singers, the whole shebang.

They've all been extremely interesting. Maybe it's just because I find people interesting in general, but the kinds of people you see there is something else.

Really.

But recently, there's been this one singer, frequenting the café.

He runs a pretty predictable routine.

Tuesday and Thursday, he comes in at around seven, just him and his guitar. He's dressed casually, but you can tell he cares just enough about his appearance, what with the very slightly gelled hair and faint smell of cologne.

He orders a black coffee, and takes his seat on the stage, asks for the spotlight to be dimmed a little bit, and how does he make the mic higher?

When he settles into his spot, he begins looking frequently to the front door, waiting for someone.

Then, a dazzling woman walks in. She looks about his age; early twenties. She walks with a light swagger, and walks as if she owns the place.

Personally, she makes me feel a little seasick, but that's just me.

Usually, she's chewing gum in a loud obnoxious way, and I hate to do it, but she seems like the stereotypical prom queen cheerleader type.

He sees her and throws a brilliant smile that she seems to deflect. But his smile doesn't dim.

She sits right at the front, ordering some drink that I always fail to remember because of the length of its name.

He clears his throat, twice, takes a swig of water, and then introduces himself.

"Hey, my name is Knox. I do cover songs. I hope you enjoy them."

That's on Tuesdays.

"Hi. The name is Knox. I cover songs, and I hope you enjoy 'em."

That's on Thursdays.

He strums the chords to his first song.

But there's a pattern with every single song. They're all happily-ever-after songs. They're all Top-40 Pop Songs, they're all on the Charts. They're all songs we recognize, and though they have every inkling of him contained in them, it seems as if he is still not satisfied with them.

Everytime he finishes, he takes a swig of water. That woman stares at her nails, takes a phonecall, and he looks longingly after her.

After another few songs, he takes a break at around nine. He sits down next to that woman, eagerly talking to her. He takes a few sips of his coffee, grimaces at its odd flavor, and looks to her again like a dog looks at its owner.

Yet, she looks absolutely apathetic.

Odd.

I long to say something. State the obvious maybe, or something of the sort that would knock him from his obvious dream state. But I don't dare say anything.

It's much better to watch, I assume in my own head.

I take a sip of my hot chocolate, and at precisely nine fifteen, he resumes the stage.

He sings some more songs, but the woman usually leaves before he's even done the second last song.

Wistfully, he looks at her. But he continues singing.

This cycle continues, until one peculiar Friday night.

That Friday, I had been particularly bold. A few of my friends had forced a few alcoholic drinks down my throat, and I was currently sitting at my usual station in the café, next to my utterly wasted friend.

To my utter (and slightly tipsy surprise), in walks Knox and that woman that I assume to be his love interest.

But today, he looks a little indignant. He looks a little fired up.

He orders, not a black coffee, but an Americano. His love interest looks a little oddly at him, and says something along the lines of, "Why are you drinking that today?"

I want to ask the same thing, but I shut my mouth and watch.

His hair slightly dishevelled, not in a bad-hair-day sort of way, but in a rebel sort of way.

It's different.

I like it.

Instead of that brilliant joyous smile on his face, it's a much more realistic and determined one. A crooked one, thrown off to the side.

He settles down on the chair, and the spotlight is already slightly dimmed, and the mic's height has already been adjusted.

He takes out his guitar, and starts to strum, and his love interest and I are equally surprised.

Before he starts the lyrics, he catches my eye and throws me a telepathic smile that might just be a figment of my imagination but makes me wonder to no end.

To that date, every single one of his covers had been something lovey dovey, something cutesy and bunny rabbit-like.

Today, it was different.

"I'm losing you
I'm losing all control
Just let me be
Let me be alone for now
I want to be alone tonight

Once again we've gone off track
And lost all hope for coming back
It's time to restart again
And try all over again

It's time to work
The work is useless now
Can't you see
Your help is lost to me
I want to be alone tonight."

She looks at him funny.

Suddenly, she gets up from her seat. She takes that glass of water by his side, and pours it over his head, letting it drip.

He doesn't move, and neither does the rest of the café.

"What are you trying to tell me, Knox?"

He stays silent.

"Don't you want my help? Don't you like me? You told me you wanted to work things out, that you wanted to improve yourself. At this rate, it's all going downhill."

More silence.

It's almost unbearable, even for the audience.

"Maybe," a voice I don't recognize cuts in. "maybe you're the one who needs to improve?"

Both the girl and Knox look at me.

Wait, was that voice me?

Ahh, damn.

"You know what? I've had enough of your stupid songs and stuff. They were never that good anyway."

She begins to gather her stuff, and Knox retreats to his stool.

He begins strumming the chords to a song that isn't familiar to me at all, one that doesn't seem to be created by someone else.

It screams Knox.

It's his own song.

That woman freezes for a second, and I can sense her. She wants to turn back. But she doesn't.

Soon, the café winds down. It's just me, him, the manager and my wasted friend now, but the last two have already fallen asleep at their stations.

He's singing his last song, I know it.

He finishes, and I clap.

Silence, but not quite a defeaning one.

We're waiting for something. A word, something.

"That's the real you, isn't it, Knox?"

He nods.

"See you on Tuesday, Knox."

I gather my things, and start to drag my friend's body out the door.

"See you."

So I've been volunteering at an art camp that I had attended like, a week ago. It's interesting, really. The little kids are a bother though. I mean, they're cute and all, but really?

Really?

So, it's my birthday on the 9th! Wish me a happy birthday! Yay!

btw, yes, this is also posted on A Box of Chocolates, but... I just... I love it so much!

Hehe.

-chewy.

R&R.