Post by pierce on Jan 21, 2017 17:44:59 GMT
In a way, High Tone Records was the one place that Marques felt comfortable. Surrounded by music, he didn't have to think much about the world outside. It was a haven, a sanctuary - with a duo of old school listening booths in the back where he could spend a whole day if he wanted. But he had to give other people a turn too, something he was told by the manager there. It was in a friendly way, but Marques still felt like it had been personal. Whatever.
When he couldn't occupy a booth, he strolled and browsed, or lounged on one of the sofa's in the back next to them and waited for another turn. That was where he was now, after he'd been 'politely' kicked out of a booth - so he was just waiting, drawing an idea he had for a painting in his sketchpad - a landscape of flowing lines and arches - shapes all interconnected with one another in one way or another. His felt tip pen flowed along, gliding without hesitation to the rhythmic music that played on the overhead speakers , zoned in to this new world in creation.
