"I figured you would." Gwendolyn Foley mumbled, taking a sip of her shake. 

"Gwen, I'm destined to be up there, singin' for all those people!" Gwendolyn's brother, Glen, said excitedly. 

"I know." It irritated Gwen that her brother was so breathtakingly gorgeous and already got a record deal with one of the biggest men in the business; Francis Alistair. 

"Don't worry little sissy," that little tidbit irritated Gwen even more, she was older. By a few minutes. Gwen and Glen thought her brilliant mother, thought Gwen with annoyance. "You're going to get wrinkles at 25 if you keep frowning like that. Your time is coming." 

Gwen took a frustrated drink of her milkshake and shook her head. "No one digs abstract anymore, Glen. I'm just out of style." Gwen sighed and took another drink of the milkshake. 

"No, you're just gettin' associated with the wrong people. Stop goin' to still life people and start goin' to people who are obsessed with Jackson Pollock or some shit." Glen said easily, leaning back in his seat. "Or maybe you could start using actual colors, Gwendolyn." Glen found Gwen's paintings boring, although he would never tell her that. She used colors like tan, beige, gray, brown, and occasionally peach. She said she reflected her life in her paintings and that her life was just... neutral. 

When Glen heard her predicament, he figured she should sign up for a dating website or something like that. She needed to get out there, he reasoned, and that she was stuck living her life in utter boredom. 

"But my life is in those paintings, I'm in those paintings, Glen, and I just can't find the heart to open up a can of red paint." Gwen said sadly. 

"Get out there, girl! You ain't goin' to spruce up your paintings just sittin' here, Gwen." And, like most times, he was right. 

"Fine. I'm going for a walk. Call me when you get out of that meeting with Francis Alistair." Gwen said. She hiked up her bag and continued on her way. 

She was walking, seeing the sights of San Fransisco. She was enjoying the salty sea air and the pleasant hum of traffic. She stopped by Fisherman's wharf, and gazed at Alcatraz Island. She was walking for probably an hour or two, when she stopped at the Golden Gate Bridge. She looked up and wondered what it would be like to stand on one of the pillars. How small would the cars look from there? Ants, beetles or tarantulas? She smiled slightly at her thoughts. She glanced at the ocean. She wondered how big it really was. It stretched on for miles. It never really ends, she thought. She walked along on the sidewalk that was connected to the street that cars hurriedly bustled through. She leaned over the railing and looked over the edge, at the huge cement blocks holding the famous bridge up. 

She thought about the exhilarating feeling of falling through the air. She'd gone sky diving with Glen and his then-girlfriend, Blanche. It was amazing, the wind in her hair and the feeling of your stomach dropping, like on a rollercoaster. She sighed, thinking about how even sky diving couldn't make her paintings interesting. Then, as she leaned over the edge, she thought about how many people had killed themselves on this bridge and shuddered. They even made a documentary about it. She looked up at the sky and thought about all the people who had died here and were therefore watching over it. She didn't know why she let her mind wander to such thoughts; she thought that's what made life interesting, was all the things people didn't know about it. 

She looked at the clouds and tried to make shapes out of them. Cotton candy, dog, dragon, demon chasing a man-

"Hi!" 

She heard an enthusiastic greeting from beside her. She switched her gaze from the ocean to a blonde man that looked around her age. His pearly white teeth smiled at her. He looked so happy and sincere, she couldn't help but return it. 

"Hi." She said, smiling slightly. The boy leaned up against the railing, like she was. "Yes?" Gwen prompted, really confused. This boy looked so happy he could burst. She felt like she'd seen him before, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. His blue eyes gleamed and his blonde hair flopped in front of his eyes, and he looked so gorgeous and perfect she was kind of jealous. He could pull off the messy hair look so well it irritated her. 

She said, "you're the deli guy, aren't you?" Just as he said, "yeah, you've been blessed with my presence." 

-*-*-----------------*--*--*-------------*-*-

Sorry for a short chapter but it felt improper to put the introduction in the first chapter. 

Toodles,

Marceline!