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having been a resident of both cities at different points in his life, Tai can't help but feel: <i><b>New York and Los Angeles were like two sides of the same coin</b></i>. people crowded the streets <i>&amp; </i>apartment buildings, their dreams too big to fit into their luggage's. they stuffed as much talent and charisma as they could into their pockets, hoping somebody in the city of stars would see it, and give them the spotlight they craved. they wanted to be models and actors and musicians and broadway stars— or the big shot CEO's and money movers who <i>date </i>them.  <br/>
<br/>
of course, <i>most </i>people fell short. and it wasn't for lack of talent, or lack of trying. gambling on your <i>art </i>was always a risk<i>; fame is a roll of the dice</i>. some people won because they were <b>lucky</b>. others, because they had a surplus of <i>daddy's money</i> to gamble with: the odds were stacked in their favor. some people skated by on looks alone: the lustful cards' dealer would manipulate a winning deck for them, just to keep them around . . . <i>yes</i>, there were many different ways to win big in celebrity roulette, but most would never see a <i>dime </i>of return, no matter how much money they kept funneling into the game. . .<br/>
<br/>
. . . not <i>Bees &amp; Knees</i>, though. they were one of the <i>special </i>ones, elevated in status enough to fill venue's with fans <i>screaming </i>the lyrics to their songs, and recording it on their phones to show off online later. Tai couldn't really count himself as one of those fans, <i>but hey</i>, he appreciated a good success story: a real <i>rags to riches </i>rise to indie super-stardom. no, <i><u>HE WASN'T JEALOUS</u> !</i> that would be <i>petty</i>, and as far as he knew, Bees &amp; Knees had never bought their way to the top: they won people over with catchy hooks <i>&amp;</i> lovely lyrics. that was perfectly <b>respectable </b><i>! </i>if they were on stage, he'd probably sip his drink, and nod, and say to the person next to him, 'yeah, they're pretty good... <i><b>if you're into that sort of thing</b></i>.'<br/>
<br/>
. . . okay, so maybe he <i>WAS </i>a little bitter <i>! </i>but it's only because he thought he could do<i> better. </i>was it wrong to hold them to the same standards that he held himself, and his own band members <i>? no</i>, that's fair, he thinks ... his distaste has <i>nothing </i>to do with the fact that Bees <i>&amp; </i>Knees far outsold his own band, nor that he had met a few of the members once at a festival, and hadn't found them to be impressive <i>off </i>the stage, either, furthering his confusion at their skyrocketed popularity. ( besides, if the rumors about their old 'friend' Theo were true, then it was <i>well</i>-past the Bee's time to go <i><b><u>EXTINCT</u></b></i>. ) whether it was warranted or merely the jealousy of a <i>hater</i>, there was no doubt that Taiyang felt a cheekily <i><b>SATISFIED SMILE</b></i> grow when it was announced that the group had cancelled, the devil on his shoulder cackling in silent satisfaction. the cattish bastard that he was, he felt his mood instantly lifted and elevated by the scrapped setlist. when a few fans nearby him groaned and boo'ed at the turn of events, he pretended to join them in their mournful revolt;  " Bees and Knees fell off, "  he said solemnly, as if he, too, had been betrayed by their absence. . .<br/>
<br/>
. . . hey, he wasn't being a <i>SNAKE </i>if he would say it to their <i>face</i>, too— <i>and he would</i>. <i>he didn't care</i>. that, he thinks, was the <i>major </i>difference between Los Angeles and New York ( his home ), despite their many similarities. Los Angelino's would laugh behind your back and lie to your face; New Yorkers had no such tact. they cursed at everyone and anyone, for even the most minor of inconveniences. <br/>
<br/>
the girl next to him was callously ranting that she didn't care if the lead singer's house had burnt down, prompting an impromptu decision to pull out of the show -- HE WAS STILL A SELFISH <i>DICKBAG </i>FOR CANCELLING ON THEM.<br/>
<br/>
. . . <i>ah</i>. <i>it was nice to be <b>home</b></i>.<br/>
<br/>
in a good mood, Tai offered to buy her a new drink, which she accepted, shoving her empty cup into his hands, while she danced carefree to the music being played by the dj ( in lieu of Bee's tracks. ) <i>he had a feeling tonight would be fun</i>. so much so, he even indulged in the rare drink for <i>himself</i>. <br/>
<br/>
after the trip to the bar, he makes his way back to the front of the packed house, with two plastic cups, one in each hand. you would think the crowd would thin out after the main attraction cancelled, but it was a friday night after all. apparently, people wanted to dance, <i>more </i>than they wanted to see the Bee's...<br/>
<br/>
<i>most </i>of them, anyway. there was always that <i>one </i>exception to the rule — <br/>
<i><b>a hand reaches out from nowhere</b></i>, and <i>karate chops</i> a plastic cup out in his hand. he watches neon liquid fly out of the cup and onto her, expressionless.<br/>
<br/>
" . . . no, don't worry about paying me back; your 'heartfelt apology' is enough for me, " he's <i>sarcastic </i>about her unremorseful reply, but it's jestful: he was not really bothered by the loss of the drink. she was definitely suffering more than him, because she was the one <i>wearing </i>it. and at least he still had <i>ONE </i>drink left <i>!</i><br/>
<br/>
. . . a man ( pushing past Tai quickly, looking like a scolded dog, for reasons wholly unknown to Tai ) bumps into Tai's other hand, successfully knocking the <i>other </i>cup to the ground, where it fizzes up on the floor and leaks into the soles of his shoes. <i>still</i>, no strong reaction crosses his face, looking down at the cup, and then at the man who took off after his hit-and-run. Tai's rather dry expression bears <i>the look of someone who is <b>used </b>to everything in his life going wrong</i>. <br/>
<br/>
" . . . <i>ah</i>. . . that was the fucktard. I can see where he gets his name from . . . "  the liquid pooling in his shoes quickly diluted his earlier joy. his sock was very <i>MOIST, </i>and <i>yes</i>, it felt as gross as the word moist' sounds. at least he's not alone in his misery — <br/>
<br/>
" i'm gonna get some napkins. you want some for your— <i>? </i>"  he gestures at her shoulder, skipping over words in his haste to fix the<i> WET SOCK</i> problem.<br/>
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