In The Beginning
Aug 20, 2015 17:16:10 GMT -5
Post by Jin-hwan "Jen" Park on Aug 20, 2015 17:16:10 GMT -5
The cold, hard truth was that Jen hadn’t intended to stay in Pilot Ridge after he’d graduated from the Hammel Institute. It had been the last option on a list of places far larger and more inspiring: New York City and Montreal had been frontrunners, of course, but Chicago hadn’t been out of the question, and Santa Monica might have been a nice change of pace. Indeed, the past few months had been a difficult time full of cold, hard truths: design school was expensive, and so were inspiring cities, and, for that matter, so was everything else.
He’d taken the reality hard, because he’d always been ambitious and mature for his age, the only eighteen-year-old adult in a world of eighteen-year-old children, and his greatest desire was to fly from captivity the moment his proverbial wings might safely bear him. Small town poverty wasn’t an easy path to walk gracefully, although it was slightly easier when one was wearing Vivienne Westwood. And he was—it was a luxuriant black shirt with an asymmetrical hem and sleeves, and he loved it more than anything else he’d ever owned. He looked good in it, and he knew it, but that wasn’t why he’d worn it.
He felt good in it… that was the important thing. That was always—always—the most important thing.
He stepped over the threshold and into From the Spectrum at eight o’clock sharp, and he loved it instantly. It looked like he felt: elegant, tasteful, a bright spot of passion in an otherwise dank, uninspiring place. He made his way toward the back of the store, where only employees were allowed, carrying his sketchbook and his desire to please.
“Hello, good morning,” he called pleasantly into the storeroom, where it was still dim. “I’m Jen Park, here to speak to Ms. Seomoon about my interview.”
He’d taken the reality hard, because he’d always been ambitious and mature for his age, the only eighteen-year-old adult in a world of eighteen-year-old children, and his greatest desire was to fly from captivity the moment his proverbial wings might safely bear him. Small town poverty wasn’t an easy path to walk gracefully, although it was slightly easier when one was wearing Vivienne Westwood. And he was—it was a luxuriant black shirt with an asymmetrical hem and sleeves, and he loved it more than anything else he’d ever owned. He looked good in it, and he knew it, but that wasn’t why he’d worn it.
He felt good in it… that was the important thing. That was always—always—the most important thing.
He stepped over the threshold and into From the Spectrum at eight o’clock sharp, and he loved it instantly. It looked like he felt: elegant, tasteful, a bright spot of passion in an otherwise dank, uninspiring place. He made his way toward the back of the store, where only employees were allowed, carrying his sketchbook and his desire to please.
“Hello, good morning,” he called pleasantly into the storeroom, where it was still dim. “I’m Jen Park, here to speak to Ms. Seomoon about my interview.”
