It's Saturday, and with Mom at work I often have to find my own entertainment. Though that really isn't hard, I might not have a lot of friends at school, but it simply means I have more time to engage in my hobbies. Though honestly in this society no one really has a hobby and I don't have any future plans after high school. There isn't really much I aspire to be and anything that someone might aspire to be doesn't necessarily need that higher education to get there.

There are some things that simply cannot be taught, I believe. Art is one of those things. Of course academia will tell you that there is, though I think that's more them teaching you palatable. When Dad was alive he used to say I had talent that no one would cultivate because it wasn't what modern audiences considered tasteful. I would challenge his philosophy if Charles hadn't walked out of the house yesterday because of my art.

Maybe it really was the taxidermied remains of Bob, he sits on the windowsill. He technically was my first pet, I got to pick him out from the shelter, he already had the name. He's kind of like a stuffed pet you keep around, and sew back up no matter how ratty he gets. Except, well he's taxidermied, and so he won't unravel like a stuffed bear might.

Mm. This sketch is good enough I think, for now. Maybe I want some better pens to line the final product. Perhaps I should go to the office supply store.

Do I have enough money to get another journal, as well? Why am I buying journals, when I have plenty of them sitting on my shelf? They just sit on the bookshelf as decoration, with no purpose.

Getting up from my office chair, I wonder if Richard is working today. I go there regularly enough that I am a Customer Friend. We're not necessarily the same age group, we've never really hung out outside of his workplace.

Leaving my bedroom, and searching for my jacket. It's still brisk and chilly despite it being April, but it will warm at the end of the month soon. Spring is still cool, even in the city, and Summers aren't too hot. In fact April may be my favorite time of the year because of all the things beginning to bud and bloom.

Some flowers choose to bloom too early and die fairly soon after mid April snow dust Oakside Park in snow that never sticks, turning the roads slick with ice. The tarmac looks like glass whenever that happens. Then the snow fades, and the weather slowly begins to turn warm with chilly winds.

Made it to the bus stop right across the apartment. No one really complains about the transportation of Oakside, if you live in midtown it's even easier to catch a bus.

Getting on the bus, simply waiting before departure for people to arrive and paying for my ride sitting closest to the front without taking disabled seating.

"Stop it," a woman in the back is talking to a man. Just from the view of the window from an angle, he's placed his hand on her leg, she removes it. He sighs, exasperatedly.

The bus lurches forward. Closing its doors.

"Come on, don't be so frigid," he whispers.

The bus begins to move.

"We're on the bus," she whispers quietly.

In truth I am a hypocrite, I am sure plenty of people, the ones sitting next to them have a clearer picture than I do. Most people don't respect when a teenager intervenes in adult matters, I would have no power, no sway, no influence. In fact I'd be more seen as a pest, than courageous or brave for sticking up for the woman. The ones sitting behind them definitely can see what is happening and each of them are waiting for someone to stand up and say something, but no one will because they are all waiting for someone else.

"Fine, I was just touching your leg," the man huffs, "Can't put my hands on my girl now in public."

"I just don't want to be touched right now,"

"You never want to be touched,"

Heart racing. I want to say something. What would I say? My stop is coming up. Say something. Like you spoke up to those bullies last night. No one else will say anything. Pulling the string to signal the bus driver I want to get off at the next stop. Standing up, looking in their direction. The man and I exchange a look, "She asked you not to touch her." I tell him.

"This is a private matter," he snaps, that's to be expected in this situation. Luckily, the bus stops just as he's standing.

Turning around sharply. Rushing out of the bus before there is a scene. Quickly heading down the sidewalk away from the bus stop.

Looking behind me one more time.

I am glad that man on the bus didn't follow, he probably couldn't have anyway.

Midtown isn't necessarily much different from the lower part of town, it has a few nicer buildings, a few more designer stores, everything is down the strip in midtown. Even in the chilly April weather, that is inconsistently cold to slightly warmer, people sit in little gated patios in front of bougie eateries enjoying the sunshine even if it comes with a gust of chilly wind from time to time.

Walking the strip, I love walking past every little shop, looking into big display windows. Most of Oakside retains its historical architecture, and despite massive designer stores, some smaller shops have remained. The little bookshop, The Spine Mine, with green trim on the outside and a white body, looks like a little building established back in the industrial age, despite it's renovations and a cafe addition.

Blackboard Blues is the store I am looking to visit today, it too carries it's industrial revolution startup days in its architecture as well, a little blue building sandwiched between several other historical buildings, facing a more minimalist modern cafe across the street.

Entering the store, there is a little old bell on the door that chimes whenever someone enters. The floor is made of wood that makes hollow sounds when you walk on it. As I expected, Richard is here. He's a tall man, with wiry red hair that reminds me a bit of copper wires. He smiles at me, "Plan to buy another journal that you won't write in." he teases, "you're a talented kid I am sure you could come up with some pretty interesting tales."

"I've thought of a few," I tell him.

"Do tell?" Richard looks curiously over the counter.

"It's my secret," I tell him.

"A secret, huh," Richard smiles, "Too dark for an old man like me then?" he laughs.

"Maybe," I tell him.

Richard shakes his head, "All right, keep your secrets. What brings you in?"

"0.1mm pens," I tell him, "I just finished a sketch and thought the final project would look better lined."

"Can you tell me about your drawing? Why don't you gloat like a normal kid?" Richard laughs.

"I think that diminishes the value of art, we're so used to society when creating something showing it off. Believing it to have no other intrinsic value than to seek public sight. I think the value of something is diminished the moment that sole purpose becomes to show others and gain external validation from others,"

"External validation can be just as comforting,"

"I just don't see my value based on other's opinions,"