"Sometimes its not the strength but gentleness that cracks the hardest shells." - Richard Paul Evans
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Fletcher is shoved against the wall. He lets out a yelp, feeling the hard violin case press against his bruised back. At this moment, he's not afraid of getting another beating, he's afraid they'll break his only instrument.

Yes, he can play other instruments other than the violin- but this violin is a memento! How can he replace what he deems as his soul? It's so valuable to him that he'd risk broken bones instead of having the old instrument lying in pieces.

Fletcher falls to his knees, not wanting to be pushed around. The single lackey, the Street Dealer has with him today, squats down. His hand is outreached, gesturing to fork over what money the musician has.

With shaky hands, Fletcher fishes out the money he got from today's performance. The lackey counts the stack of one dollar bills and nods to the Street Dealer. Fletcher watches the exchange anxiously; is it enough?

He obnoxiously laughs, "Its great that you understand the system! Makes it less work for me!- You can runaway now."

Fletcher scrambles onto his feet, making sure he doesn't look away from the Street Dealer. The large man laughs with his lackey while they witness the musician stumble out of the alleyway. When they are out of sight, Fletcher hurries away, not wanting them to have a last minute decision of beating him up.

After putting more distance away from the thugs, Fletcher finds himself home. A sigh of relief escapes him.

"Fletch!" calls Zizi. "Are you satisfied now? Please rest, boy. You look even more tired. The faster you heal, the less I worry... - huh, your friend's not with you? Didn't I tell him to watch over you!"

"Jayden- he... he wants some time to himself to digest all of this. He's still going through that realization period," the musician sighs, walking with Zizi to the his tent.

She shakes her head, "He better wake up to reality cause his moody ass won't win him any aid."

Fletcher is lost in thought while he stores his violin in the tent for its safety. He wonders if Jayden is having somewhat of an easier time than him? But just to be sure... maybe he should check in with a few people before collapsing tiredly in his tent.

And those loan sharks- Fletcher rubs his head in frustration. He'll solve this. Somehow.

He glance back at Zizi who's watching him with concern. Fletcher asks, "Is Old Joe still wandering around the usual street corner?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'll be back soon," says Fletcher as he begins to head out once more.

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"Watch where yah going, bum!" yells a middle aged man.

Jayden shakes his head, muttering, "Don't want to deal with this."

He continues down the street that's bustling with full restaurants, cafes, and small stores. Mouth-watering aroma flows out whenever doors are opened. Cars and taxis whizz by slowly because of how tight the street is.

Jayden holds his growling empty stomach. He bumps into another stranger, a woman this time. The lady scrunches up her face, frowning as she glances his way. She hurried her steps not bothering to say something like the previous guy.

Moving away from the busy sidewalk, Jayden comes to a stop. He leans against the wall, pulling at his button up shirt that's sticking to his skin. He takes a whiff of his arm, comparing the odor to the inside of gym locker room.

His gaze trails to his reflection in the building's large window. God, his appearance gets worse by the hour. There are bags under his eyes, probably from not getting a good night's rest in Fletcher's tent. He brushes at the prickly facial hair for not shaving over a day.

At this point, if the company were to want him back, they wouldn't be able to find him. Maybe in a week or two, he'll match the other homeless guys that people give only a second of thought before ignoring them.

Jayden imagines himself as a beggar who sits at the corner with those cardboard signs. His thoughts mocking him, the sign would read: "Would you believe that I was successful?"

The former businessman sighs; how long will he be like this? Could he last that long? What was everyone thinking- who's "brilliant" idea was it that woke up one morning thinking, "We should make him homeless! That would fix him!" Probably his father. The old man always thought his ideas were unique and perfect.

Jayden's thoughts wander to shaggy unkept dark hair. Slim fingers hold one end of a worn-out violin while the other wields a bow with elegance. A melodious stream of notes could still be played on that beaten up instrument.

Amazement.

Talent.

"Talent..." Jayden mutters to himself. Aside from growing businesses and arguing a solid bargain, what else could he show?

Gambling- the same name for risk-taking in any business. Before receiving WME, Jayden likes to show off his intelligence. He earned a lot of pocket change from poker back in his college years. It all comes down to probability and reading your opponents.

He continues, "It's been a while...." Jayden receives a suspicious look from another passerby. If he continues to mutter like his on the street, people will definitely think he's crazy.

Jayden digs in his pockets to discover a couple of coins left. Could these be enough? There's got to be some bar or gathering place that does cards for a couple of dollars. The former CEO does remember gambling at some club that he once took a girlfriend. The people who own the place know him, they should be able to let him in!

Something hits his foot and clinks on the cement. Jayden turns his attention to the ground. A quarter circles at his feet before coming to a stop.

"Well, that was not very nice of him," says a sweet-voiced stranger. A woman in her mid ages takes out her wallet and hands him a dollar bill.

She smiles, "A quarter from the rude man and a dollar from me. Eat something, dear." Jayden only stares at the bill that was placed in his hand. Did he just receive a handout?

Jayden bites the end of his lip before showing his "businessman" smile. He stops himself from talking because who knows what spew of toxic sentences would come out of him?

The stranger is satisfied by his "gratitude" and leaves Jayden alone. But before the businessman could chuck the money onto the floor, he eyes it; why throw something that he needs now?

He lets out a sigh, "Well... I do need more money to bet on." His reasoning doesn't settle well with him but Jayden pockets the change.

It takes a hour to wandering to locate one of the clubs. He trots over to the bouncer who's letting lines of people to enter. The muscle man shifts his attention to the former CEO, looking at him with disgust.

"Piss off," says the bouncer.

Jayden shakes his head, "I know the owner-"

"And I know the Queen of England. I've heard this story many times, pal. Move," huffs the man. With one hand, he shoves Jayden back hard enough to make him off balance. The businessman glares at the bouncer, noting to fire the guy when he returns to his job.

"Just call down the manager," insists Jayden.

"I said, piss off!" the bouncer yells. Jayden lets out an exhausted sigh, flipping the bird at the bouncer. The muscle man takes a step forward, causing Jayden to bolt away.

After running nonstop, he halts in front of some dinky bar. Jayden leans against the wall, catching his breath. The neon sign above him flickers like it's close to shorting out. Squished cans of beer and cigarette buds litter the ground around him.

Imagination running, Jayden will end up on the streets with not a single person caring about his unfair problem. He has business acquaintances but they couldn't be considered as friends. Only the friend of his father and probably his secretary are the people who could be considered as close...

"Hey, if you're gonna be passed out drunk, do it somewhere else," says a gruff voice from the entrance of the bar. The former CEO turns to a man who could be compared to a lumberjack. A fuzzy black beard covers the buff black man. The only thing out of place for a manly guy like him is the small apron wrapped around his large form.

Jayden shakes his head, "I'm not drunk- but I would like to be at the moment." Now that the man mentions it, a hard drink sounds selfishly appropriate for his current situation. But the only money on him would afford him a pack of gum.

The man lets out a hearty laugh, approaching Jayden just to pat him on the back. The businessman grunts; he isn't scrawny but that "pat" was more of a "whack!"

"Come on in then. My small bar is perfect for folks like you," nods the black guy. "-Also, the name's Mike. I own this haven of mine."

Firstly, what did Mike mean by "folks like you?" Jayden already knows the obvious answer and he can feel his irritation growing- not because of being looped with "folks like you" but being reminded of his predicament.

The whole friendly personality throws Jayden off with how most people either tell him to leave or give him hand outs for his short period of wandering the streets.

"So you comin in, uh?"

"-I have no money. Just a dollar-"

"Well!" Mike grins. "Know how to gamble? Some of the regulars are having their usual game today."

Jayden lifts an eyebrow; talk about a lucky coincidence. But then again, the city isn't a stranger to gambling. With his skills, he should be able to earn whatever he can get out of the other players' pockets. He follows the bar owner into the rundown small building.

Eyes adjust to the poorly lit bar. A counter and rows of shelves stocked with liquor are at the back. Three tables are at the front with a couple of chairs around each. Two guys are shuffling a deck of cards at one table. Their gruff mugs turn towards the entrance, sizing up Jayden.

Mike makes his way behind the counter, returning to whatever he was previously doing. He calls out to the guys, "Hey, I got you guys another player. Deal him in."

With a grunt, one of the men motions the business man to have a seat. He then says out loud with his deep voice, "How much?" Jayden darts his eyes between the two players then to the mound of chips. The dollar bill silently slips out of his pocket and onto the table.

The other guy lets out a huff, "A dollar? Hah! You're going to loose it quickly, man."

Jayden shakes his head, feeling a mischievous confidence reveal itself. He won't miss a chance to repair what little pride is left of his.

Minutes turn into hours as the table becomes lively at every well-played round. With Jayden's slowly increasing earnings he orders a shot of whatever string stuff Mike has. What was supposed to be one shot turned into a couple and three hours in the game, Jayden is zoning in and out.

Well, the whole table is a bumbling mess.

One guy's passed out while the other keeps loosing count of his earnings.

Jayden gets up from his seat, only to stumble to the floor. The world's spinning, in his vision, and he could feel stomach growl.

"Ugh..."

Jayden doesn't notice Mike's crouched down beside him, offering a glass of water. The former CEO miraculously drinks half of the glass while the other half spills on his dirty button up.

He lays himself on the ground, feeling even woozier.

"This... *hic* succkss..." He mumbles into the flooring.

"Aw man, you had to puke on the floor?" sighs Mike. "Jeez, where is he..."

Did he puke? Jayden didn't even realize until now.

The door to the bar opens and hurried footsteps make there way to the mess.

"Sorry, Mikey. Thanks for finding him."

"No prob, Fletch. It's what any brother would do for another. But boy, is this guy a huge mess."

Jayden heard a sigh before he's pulled up to his feet. Not to his liking, his limp body is draped over Fletcher. The musician in turn, flinches at his aching body suffering at the added weight.

"See yah," Fletcher says before getting Jayden out the door with the help of Mike.

The former businessman could only feel the sway of his numb body. He isn't going to enjoy waking up from this...

"Heeey," mumbles Jayden.

Fletcher doesn't stop walking but responds with a "hm."

"Whydju take me. I got money. Seeee."

"To know that you would spend your money on alcohol doesn't assure me of your decision making skills right now," snickers Fletcher. It's a good thing he knows the owner of the bar; Mikey used to live at the camp years ago.

"Jayden... we need to talk," says Fletcher. What talk he could have with this drunk, he's not sure, but it's worth a try.

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A/N: Wooooooo! It's been- what- 3 billion years since I officially updated this thing. Had to reread my work after such a long down time (and by god, do I dislike rereading my unfinished work). Made this a reward day for me because I got most of my homework done. Wish me luck with finals next week and I'll be sure to continue writing (now that I'm willing to write more). Oml I spelt the chapter title wrong at first. Ugh.