Anshelical
Wandering the Artist Alter Ego
Breeze, suffocated by heat in a bustling district of Los Angeles (L.A.), barely cools off the many drivers reaching for air out of their windows of dry, dusty cars. No cloud wades in the sky; sunlight's heat falls down upon the crowded street, Hill Street, one that of a continuous line of businesses, residences, and simple city decoration. Students enjoying their midday break from the University of South California chatter by feet and wheels, expressing their summer class woes in such a hot time. The draconic archway to Chinatown glistens its gold scales and welcomes locals and tourists alike to a variety of Asian venues and eateries, with a few street performers impressing with diverse expression about them. Phones click and snap to the Metro 417 edifice stealing the railways of roadways nearby, its old Subway Terminal Building mystique of a Renaissance phenomenon attracting desires for a luxury stay. Despite all of these sights, no one can be saved from the 100 degree weather.
That would include a small establishment at the end of this bustling street, its tiny frame chapped of paint from the relentless climate: the Cash-Up Car Shop, where a group of elites stood about it.
"How much is the building being sold for?"
"It's not for sale."
"What? You mean this thing's not for sale? No one's made an offer to the owner yet?"
"Wait, you mean someone owns this place? Looks abandoned to me."
"It could become a branch firm, a restaurant, maybe even a museum if we were to extend the walls," Tate Vennatta, CEO of a well-known investment company, Vinesta Corporation, whispered to some of his board members. "No, it could be a salon, if it was really that adamant. Just something useful."
Beside him was his financial adviser fanning his own cheek. "That owner is really reluctant. Really, really reluctant. Just need to offer 'em a lot of money and he'll be out of the way."
"This is, like, the only building on this street that isn't up to date."
Indeed, that dingy fort extended with an exposed garage covered Tod Hernikins within from some of the hot weather, a fan blowing behind him to compete with the rising temperature. From his lukewarm bottle, he took another sip of water, eyeing each member of the curious crowd outside his shop. He knew what this meant, the gathering of people dressed in clean-seamed suits and surrounding, polished cars. It was just only five years ago another company sought the same end to sell out his business his father worked so hard for, and the stakes were truly high. Even for half a million dollars, Tod would never sell this shop, considering its long-lasting miracle standing on Hill Street. And now that he managed to earn some real employees, students desperate for work to pass the summer days, he wished to make the business much bigger and better.
Behind him, a youthful girl not afraid to wear her baggy shirt in such hot weather, huffed as she carried a messy can of beige paint over. "Hey, Mr. Hern, what about this color?" She managed to stir the white and yellow paint together as some of the base colors lied upon the can rims.
"Yeah," Tod glanced into the can with a pinch to his beard. Whatever color would do for him, as long as the shop looked better on the outside. "That's good. Just around the seams where you washed yesterday'll do. Gotta make the colors all poppy." With that, he set down his water bottle and started off for the closet toward the back of the shop. "I'll get the polisher paint for ya."
"Okay," she said, swinging the heavy can by the handles as she headed outside to paint. Something about the crowd nearby bothered her as she painted, despite her love for the hobby, hoping that her skills would be enough for them to be satisfied.
That would include a small establishment at the end of this bustling street, its tiny frame chapped of paint from the relentless climate: the Cash-Up Car Shop, where a group of elites stood about it.
"How much is the building being sold for?"
"It's not for sale."
"What? You mean this thing's not for sale? No one's made an offer to the owner yet?"
"Wait, you mean someone owns this place? Looks abandoned to me."
"It could become a branch firm, a restaurant, maybe even a museum if we were to extend the walls," Tate Vennatta, CEO of a well-known investment company, Vinesta Corporation, whispered to some of his board members. "No, it could be a salon, if it was really that adamant. Just something useful."
Beside him was his financial adviser fanning his own cheek. "That owner is really reluctant. Really, really reluctant. Just need to offer 'em a lot of money and he'll be out of the way."
"This is, like, the only building on this street that isn't up to date."
Indeed, that dingy fort extended with an exposed garage covered Tod Hernikins within from some of the hot weather, a fan blowing behind him to compete with the rising temperature. From his lukewarm bottle, he took another sip of water, eyeing each member of the curious crowd outside his shop. He knew what this meant, the gathering of people dressed in clean-seamed suits and surrounding, polished cars. It was just only five years ago another company sought the same end to sell out his business his father worked so hard for, and the stakes were truly high. Even for half a million dollars, Tod would never sell this shop, considering its long-lasting miracle standing on Hill Street. And now that he managed to earn some real employees, students desperate for work to pass the summer days, he wished to make the business much bigger and better.
Behind him, a youthful girl not afraid to wear her baggy shirt in such hot weather, huffed as she carried a messy can of beige paint over. "Hey, Mr. Hern, what about this color?" She managed to stir the white and yellow paint together as some of the base colors lied upon the can rims.
"Yeah," Tod glanced into the can with a pinch to his beard. Whatever color would do for him, as long as the shop looked better on the outside. "That's good. Just around the seams where you washed yesterday'll do. Gotta make the colors all poppy." With that, he set down his water bottle and started off for the closet toward the back of the shop. "I'll get the polisher paint for ya."
"Okay," she said, swinging the heavy can by the handles as she headed outside to paint. Something about the crowd nearby bothered her as she painted, despite her love for the hobby, hoping that her skills would be enough for them to be satisfied.