but, neither was getting forced out off my apartment. the night prior, the police stormed the place, shoving people into walls, tearing up the floors, overall just making a mess.

deciding that i didn't want to be questioned, i jumped out my window and booked it. i had a backpack with most of my stuff and my car was parked a block away. sleeping on the sidewalk wasn't ideal, but it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

i cleaned myself up in a public restroom and tried taking a shower, which was basically rubbing a damp soap bar on my body. as long as i didn't look or smell homeless, i should be okay.

i looked in the mirror, almost having to squint to see past the crust that formed on it. the bags under my eyes were more prominent, which may have been attractive if i was paler. my eyes were dark, almost black looking and my usual curly hair was just frizzy now. it was getting long too, my bangs were constantly in my eyes and it reached below my chin, almost to my shoulders but not quite. my lashes were long, and they were probably the only thing i liked on my face. everything else reminded me of my mom.

i walked out of the bathroom, stepping on a middle aged mans foot because i saw him peeping into the woman's bathroom. he cursed me out in spanish and i just flipped him off and kept walking. i was making bank today.

i started up my car with a sigh. i was going to need gas, and soon. i plugged in the guys address, hoping it wasn't more than a ten minute drive. i started my drive, determined to get that money.

i pulled up to the guys house, which definitely looked like he could just hand out ten grand, and got my bag.

ringing the doorbell, i hear a loud thump and a inaudible shout before the door opened. a kid no older than i was appeared. he was taller than me, but not by much. he had a dumb hat on that made him look like an egg, but somehow cute at the same time. he had a few beauty marks on his face and friendly eyes, which matched his small smile.

"hi! you're here for the stuff?" he asks, making me raise an eyebrow.

"if you mean paint, then yeah." i shrug. could this be more awkward?

"y-yeah just follow me." he leads me into his house. "i'm alex."

"reyna." i say. i was never good with introductions. he leads me to his 'office', which was a setup of a bunch of random shit. there was a chair that was way to close to the tv, a half broken desk and an expensive looking computer with bunch of other tech shit that i didn't care about.

behind the computer shit, there was a brick wall, which i assumed was what alex was talking about. i put my bag down, just realizing that he hadn't stopped talking since he let me in.

"-so yeah just right here." he stops, looking at me. he was clearly hispanic, but was pretty light, making the red tint on his face evident. it seemed like this was the first time he's spoken to a girl in a while.

i looked at the wall, going behind the desk to get a closer look. the blocks of cement were unevenly separated, which would make it hard to do any realistic piece.

"you could just, uh, do like graffiti saying something stupid." alex suggests.

"like what?" i ask, confused.

"i don't know, like 'im just chillin' or something."

"you want to give me ten grand to paint a hillary clinton quote?"

"i-i can give you more if that's not enough."

"are you stupid?" i blurt. "are you rich or something?"

"something like that." he says with a sigh.

"listen." i say with a shrug. "i'm not letting you give me ten grand for a shitty meme."

"what if you painted a screenshot from the video?" alex says, actually giving a decent suggestion for the first time.

"fine, fine okay." i give in.

"why don't you want the money?" he asks suddenly. "i mean, pretty much everyone would just take it without hesitation."

"of course i want the money. i don't know about you but ten grand is a lot of money to just give away." i tell him, laying out the towel. was this guy gonna be here every second?

"can you print out the picture you want?" i ask him. "make sure it takes up the whole page."

i take out the rest of my supplies, letting myself think for a moment. was is up with this guy? could he really just give away ten fucking grand? did he have any sense of money at all?whatever, it didn't matter. what mattered was that i was going to have the money.

alex came back with the photo, handing it to me along with a can of sprite.

"oh, thanks. i haven't had one of these in years." i say. i cursed myself out in my head. why was i sharing more information than necessary?

"really? why not?" he questions. this was exactly why we don't say more than we need to.

"couldn't afford it." i say simply, turning away before i could say anything else.

"i thought you were famous." alex says, sounding very confused.

"what the hell are you talking about?"

"well, your art." he stutters.

"what about it?" i say in a slightly less aggressive ton.

"it's just, it's really good. i thought you would have tons of followers." he explains.

"on what? instagram?" i question. he nods slowly.

"sadly, no. i'm not famous." i say, trying to not get agitated.

i began painting, starting with a white base everywhere. i couldn't believe i was painting hillary fucking clinton for ten thousand dollars.

"your work is incredible, none the less." alex says to me. that caught me off guard. the last time i was complimented was when my third grade teacher told me my duck drawing was good.

"thank you." i say, hoping i came across as genuine.

"do you mind if i watch you paint?" he almost shouts.

tell him no. say no. "sure." what the fuck.

i never had an issue telling anyone no before. why was it different with him? maybe he wasn't as annoying as i thought he was. maybe i enjoyed talking to him, even thought he was a fucking idiot. maybe he was okay.

maybe he was a little more bearable than i thought.