The versatile musician Avant Guarded played all types of genres over the decades, from classical to oldies to hip-hop. The glasses gave away the classical interest. Everyone said she looked smart when she wore them. They seemed unsurprised to hear about the classical music.
The baggy sweatpants, hoodie and snapback were a more current fit for her rhyme schemes. Yet everyone seemed shocked to hear she was a rapper. Sometimes she'd forget herself.
It was strange, because people acted like rapping was easy. So why were they shocked that she could do it?
Avant Guarded walked into one of her favorite coffee shops. It was an old house, complete with a big “living room” of tables and couches… a small side room with comfy recliner chairs you'd find at someone's house… and a spacious basement-type room with desks and cute little desk lamps, called “The Cellar.”
A fiddle group liked to jam out there on Tuesdays, where Avant Guarded stopped by after her weekly therapy session, client calls, and dinner. She was trying to shake the annoyance she felt at her therapist for saying dumb shit. She started to think at some point, you have to take things into your own hands and be your own therapist.
The coffee house was exciting enough to forget all about therapists and clients. All she wanted to do was be left alone to read, write and sip coffee in the anonymity of this coffee shop. Avant Guarded walked in, glanced at the fiddle group, and got in line for coffee.
“Room for cream?”
“Only a little bit.”
She got in the other line to pick up coffee… glanced around the room… and saw the fiddle group's cellist staring at her with piercing green eyes. The most piercing green eyes she'd ever seen. Just staring straight at her. Well, she wasn't sure if it was a straight glance or not.
“Oh God, I haven't showered today… I can't talk to an attractive person in here," Avant Guarded thought to herself. Disqualifying herself immediately, she glanced around the room and back at the cellist while going through a lightning storm of all the possible reasons why the cellist was looking at her…
“She's gay and thinks I'm cute? Hmm… I've been wrong about that before so maybe not.”
"She's staring at me because I look really gay… wouldn't be the first time…"
"Can she tell I do music too?"
The cellist wasn't looking at her anymore. Avant Guarded pretended the cellist didn't exist anymore from that moment on… she went in the cellar to read a book and write about her day.
The rapper walked into the oldest gay bar in town…
She headed to the bar to get a drink… and get the bartender's phone number. A few days later, the rapper went over to the bartender's apartment.
There were a sea of drunk Mexican men swarming the apartment parking lot. They did have a “rapey” vibe… but the rapper would never say that out loud to anybody.
The outside of the apartment smelled like beer and piss… but the inside was the complete opposite. It had been renovated and looked like a nice place to live… on the inside anyway.
They talked about psychology and other things that aren't important. Where are you from, how did you grow up, what brought you here blah blah. “I'm a full blooded Mexican,” the bartender said about her family life proudly.
The rapper asked the bartender where she learned to kiss like that. “Experienceee,” she replied with a cocky look. Truth be told, it was the best first kiss of the rapper's life. But… it didn't mean anything.
This was obvious the second time she came over to the bartender's apartment… who didn't even hide the fact she wanted a hook up. She also turned on a Netflix show… 9 seasons in, so the rapper just sat there lost the whole time.
The rapper had brought Karbach Love Street beers to enjoy together. But the bartender said she stopped drinking… something about getting into too much trouble lately.
The rapper drank a couple of beers, but they didn't help her relax. Her thoughts raced as if she were fully sober.
The rapper's anxiety was about to explode. She wanted to date, not hook up. “All my relationships start like this,” the bartender said. “They all start with hanging out at my place.”
The rapper needed to get out of there and decompress.
The bartender went outside for a few minutes to smoke a cigarette and say goodbye to the rapper.
There was a drunk Mexican man creeping down below them on the stairs. The smell of piss was all in the air. Why were people peeing outside of places that had toilets?
“You seem stressed,” the bartender said as she exhaled smoke.
She got up in the rapper's face and emphasized --
“You're Overthinking It!”
The rapper hurriedly left the bartender's apartment for the last time and never saw her again…except at the bar… and in the rapper's bars.