with a case of 2 dollar blues [valen]

[particles of me]

<center>

It falls like dewdrops on my sorry window's face
And I don't have to know why
But just to see you there with that look upon your face
It makes me want to cry

It smells like honey but it's thick like paint
The way your smile curls up on the sides
And I love the way your lips are curved up like that
But you know it makes me wanna hide

And I keep thinking someday I'll find the finish line
Another way to Heaven,
Another cheap dive
But finally I've got a reason to believe
That's this is all I really need
This is all I really need

Your mama lied to you, you knew it from the start
She told you men were fools
They'd only break your heart
But baby, please don't hide away from my arms
Just let me prove that woman wrong

Your daddy told you we'd cheat and we'd run
That poker's liars swore they'd never see the sun
But behind these eyes of mine you know it's true
Just lemme prove how much I need you

And I keep thinking someday I'll find the finish line
Another way to Heaven,
Another cheap dive
But finally I've got a reason to believe
That's this is all I really need
This is all I really need

And I keep thinking someday I'll find the finish line
Another way to Heaven,
Another cheap dive
But finally I've got a reason to believe
That's this is all I really need
That you are all I really need.</center>





Original.

[particles of me]

"Hey, hey, one two. Hey, hey, one two."

Through the steel curtain of spotlights that hung around the small joint, one could see quite easily that the place was built on sheer intimacy. Yeah, there was a bar -- about a dozen stools lined up along a cherry counter, complete with kinks and knicks and the leftover rubbings of elbows and palms -- but more than that, Muse was a listening room. On the outskirts of town, it was tucked away in the Historic District, which had recently been built back up from square one. Bookended by privately owned art galleries, Muse had been written up in the local arts page as being one of the 'top venues of today, mixed with the brilliance of yesterday's ambience.' Any way it was sliced and diced, Valen Hent loved the venue for what it was: a listening room. A place where people constantly came just to sit back, relax, and enjoy some good soul-wrenching music.

After all, that was the point.

After sound-checks were complete (it didn't take long, given Valen had only two other guys backing him -- a second guitarist out of Los Angeles and a percussionist out of Wisconsin), the trio went their opposite ways to contact family in the area, smoke cigarettes, change for the show, et cetera. Staying behind, Valen made his way over to the bar and dropped onto a stool, the kid opening for him, David Bowers, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he pulled up a stool to his right.

"Ready, man?"

David had a voice that smoked like a cast-iron chimney, but his smile was like glass and his eyes were like lightbulbs. He had a positive presence about him that showed through his aura and his music, and it was the main reason why Valen asked him to go on the road with him for the next six weeks. They agreed to only play small venues -- the kind one had to seek out and could get into only if they were a true local -- and they decided to kick the tour off there in the city before they took up the road. Having decided to share an apartment on their time off from tour, the two instantly clicked, but they hardly knew each other. That was the beauty of the male friendship -- neither of them minded that one didn't know the other any better than the back of his own hand.

"Yeah, I think so." With a shotty grin and a glance to the bartender, Valen started his (free) tab and dragged a fresh glass of Coors Light closer to him, letting his fidgeting fingers stay wrapped around the swetting glass.

It was David, in fact, who spotted her to begin with. His eyes dragged over to her only because the ash tray was in front of her and there wasn't one closer, and he paused in his search, eyeing the woman from his place farther down the bar.

"Check her out," he jabbed at Valen with his elbow, his head ticking towards the woman with brown hair and browner eyes.

Valen's eyes followed David's and he watched her for just a moment, careful to not get caught, already noting the wedding ring on her left hand. His mouth slung up in a half-grin and he coughed out a laugh at his tour partner, nudging him back.

"She's taken, man. Check it out," his thumb jutted towards her hand, and he hid a depressed smile behind the lip of his glass, drowning his tongue in half a glass's worth of beer.

"So?"

Valen's mouth didn't match David's childish grin, but it drew up into something that featured a realization that the question was a joke, not a piece of advice. With his mouth opened and ready to make a comeback, Valen was cut off by David shoving off from the bar to meet a girl at the door, disappearing with her down the street as he had forty-five minutes before he went on.

From his end of the bar, Valen looked like a nomad, and he was sure no one recognized him as a musician who was techinically headlining in the small place.

Pushing off his stool, he drummed up enough casual courage to walk towards the woman with matching hair and eyes, and he dropped down in a stool beside her that was left abandoned by her husband, who'd wandered off to go talk with some of his friends.

"You look about as stranded as me," he grinned at her easily and raised his glass in a mock salute before downing the rest of it.

"I am, sort of," she mumbled and offered a meak smile, though she wasn't rude. Just shy.

"You come out here often?" He was coy in his survey and waited out her answer, silently working up ratios and percentages in his mind.

"Not too often, but today is my bir-- well, my husband brought me. With his friends."

Not catching the start of the first comment, Valen simply nodded and chucked a glance over his shoulder, eyeing the man who'd abandoned the stool.

"That him?"

"Yeah, Alejandro," his name rolled off her tongue with a native language born and bred in sex, even if she wore the face of innocense well.

"Ah, well." His nose puffed out air that signified a sad laugh, and he tipped his empty glass at the bartender, signifying he was ready for a second. "I'm sure you'll have a good time, I know the guy that's about to go on is pretty damn good."

"I don't know anything about him," she admitted sheepishly, "--or the other one, for that matter." No, she didn't know much of either of them, to the point that she failed to recognize Valen, and she barely remembered the name of the place in which she sat. Her mouth drummed up a birthday-grin, but her eyes lit sadness.

"His name's David Bowers," his head bobbing easily. "Sings. Plays some mean keys, too."

"Elton John kinda keys?" Her voice brightened with playfulness.

"More like... Coldplay. But not so mainstream and not so... gay. In fact, he's nothing like them." Valen managed a grin, sliding his refilled glass back to him.

"Well, do you like him?"

"Yeah. His lyrics have thought to them."

"Then I will, too," she decided then and there.

With the twist of Valen's lips came the twist of his head as he caught Alejandro making his way back over to the woman. Valen's intuition said Alejandro would be upset that his wife was talking with a musician, but he was wrong -- the man was bright and clapped a hand on his shoulder, much the way David had.

"There's my birthay girl," the man dotted a kiss to her cheek, then leaned past her to order three drinks -- one for him, two for his friends. Quietly, Valen observed the woman's instantly lit face, which instantly fell when she was brushed aside.

"It's your birthday?" He asked with a lopsided grin and a tilt of his head, as if to also ask, 'how could you have not told me?'

"Yeah," she chirped sheepishly (she was good at that), and her eyes rolled away along the length of the bar, trying desperately to find a good topic change.

"How old?"

"Ahh," Alejandro glanced at Valen with a cocked brow, a grin heavy on his mouth. "You should never ask a woman her age," it was obvious the man was more experienced than Valen. Older, too.

"He's right," she echoed from behind, but her mouth wore a smile that held a warmth to it that wasn't there before. Not for her husband, though. For Valen.

There was a long, awkward pause, and in the silence Valen finished off his second (and last, for now) glass of beer, letting it hit the bar with a thunk.

"Go with me," he shoved off the bar suddenly and held out a hand to the woman, only after her husband had backed off and gone back to his friends, leaving her in the dust. "Let's go take a walk, I still have some time."

Her eyes fell to his upturned palm, studying his outstretched hand. She failed to realize what he meant by still having some time, and she chewed her bottom lip, glancing from his hand to her husband who was in a rather humorous discussion with his friends, and completely oblivious to her and the man with the outstretched hand. Obliging, she slid her hand into his and he helped her off the stool, letting her lead the way outside the small venue. Once outside, he realized he'd had less time than he thought, but he stuck to his promise and started down the sidewalk.

"What's your name?" He asked casually as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes on the sidewalk save for the occassional glance in her direction.

"Mina," she chirped quietly through a soft grin. "You?"

"Valen," he pronounced it with a short-a, as though it should have been spelled with a double-consonant. "Pleasure, Mina." His Colombian accent slipped through when he spoke her name.

On the street, it was foggy and starting to drizzle, a sheen of neon lights flickering around them to mirror on the slickened black ground to their side, as well as the gray pavement beneath their feet. Seeking shelter (and laughing at the irony of it starting to rain as soon as they got outside), they turned around and went back to Muse, sliding back inside. Their lingering smiles were a silent and mutual 'so long for now', and Mina went to seek out her husband, idly wondering if he even realized she was gone. Valen disappeared outside again and went to the bus, meeting the other two guys for a quick change into something just as casual, but a little more clean. At the end of Dave's set, Valen snuck in through the back and wore another pair of jeans, frayed at the edges, and a black shirt with the word chance in white letters scripted across the chest.

Without much of an introduction, Valen took center stage and stayed standing, rather than seeking out a stool, and the two guys plugged up on either side of him, one with his guitar, the other at the keyboard for the first song. With his mouth bowed up in a wide grin, he introduced himself and got whistles from the back of the room, along with the tittering of laughter, from some locals who'd remembered him from his last stop in at Muse -- only previously, he wasn't the one headlining. His thumb strummed a slow chord, and he cleared his throat.

"Uh," he leaked out quietly and cleared his throat again, not out of nerves, just out of enough comfort for being in front of a smaller audience. "It's good to be back," he played around with a few more chords, not really playing much of anything, his eyes on the strings of his guitar except for the occassional glance into the white-washed room due to the light that shone in his own brown eyes. He laughed when he heard more whistling from the back, and he paused in his playing and squinted, seeking out the source. "Ella Calloway," he had no qualms in saying her name to the rest of the people (barely pushing fifty, though by the end of the night it would be standing room only and pushing one-fifty), and he smiled a huge smile when she let off girly holler. "That's my girl," he dipped his head towards the back of the room with a wiggle of his brows, just to give the audience a laugh -- and to embarrass poor Ella, who was red and hiding behind her hands -- and he laughed into the mic before starting up his first song with vibrant chords. "So I met someone tonight," he talked over the chords and glanced down at the strings, then peered out over the crowd with a boyish grin, "--and today's her birthday." Naturally, the crowd clapped and more spilled in through the back door, clapping along with everyone else as they didn't know what was going on but were curious to hear the new musician, "And this song's for her. It's called Finally."

Finally, he'd found the person he wanted to dedicate it to.