*Ophelia*

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I get to work, ready to serve the people their food. I brought my guitar to busk later tonight. I’m better at piano, but a guitar is a bit easier to lug around when in town.

When I enter Touchdown Tavern, however, my manager stands there, arms crossed and a glare on his face.

“Hey George, what’s up?” I question cautiously.

“What’s up is that you’re fired.”

My entire body reels back at the ...