Mustard Service

On a warm summer evening in the year of our Lord 2015, a young college drop out is in his backyard, guitar in hands scribbling lazily on a loose sheet of paper. He taps his pen on his chin intensely, contemplating the first and only line that reads: "I'm going down". he stares down at his pathetic excuse for an opening line and calls it a night. "eh, I'll try again tomorrow" he says. This is his mantra. He didn't know it then, but that pathetic little