“Oh lord, I’ve had enough of these people out here.” Frankie’s hand reached up their forehead and attempted to ease their headache.

It had been about a week since these “up-and-coming groups” started performing one after the other directly in front of the 133 Nowhere Lane red brick apartment building. Their makeshift stage, hand crafted and painted with little love or care, was an affront to the eyes composed of neon blues and greens and pinks, made all the more prevalent in contrast with the dark red, blocky, half dilapidated brick building before it. Combined with the putrid odor of week old trash, the ever chilling October weather, and the fact that Frankie couldn’t tell if they had ever made music or even heard any before, every second spent in the area became a sensory nightmare.

As Frankie approached the entry to their building, they noticed a familiar figure half watching the overwhelming display of fading paint illuminated by half broken stage lights. The figure would have been practically indistinguishable from the darkening alley, full of the building’s barrels and buckets of trash, if not for the puffs of smoke and orange glow emanating from their left hand. As Frankie approached to better discern the figure, they recognized a leash loosely gripped in their other hand attached to some type of small dog. They suddenly recognized the figure as their neighbor, though they couldn’t recall his name. They did, however, recall that his dog was named Petunia.

“Hey there, uh..” The man turned slightly to discern who was talking to him, only to realize it was just Frankie.

“Craig. It’s Craig. You know, your neighbor?”

“Right, Craig. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“Heh, you got that right. Not any better with this… whatever this is.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips, taking a deep breath in before releasing the noxious fumes.

“Who even are these people?”

“These ones are calling themselves ‘Da Best.’”

“Little on the nose, no?”

“Not just that, they’re claiming that they’re a part of the ‘next big musical revolution’ and chose to get their start right outside of our building.”

Every day for the past week, a new group took their place on the stage to attempt to make their mark on the world. Unfortunately for these people, rather than supportive potential fans, all they found were uninterested busy workers just trying to get through their day who only perceived them as a public nuisance.

“As if this place wasn’t bad enough. You still need a new sink?”

“Yes, and more. Course, the landlord hasn’t even thought about touching this place with a 30 foot pole.”

“You can say that again. I still haven’t gotten my window fixed.”

“You gotta give those kids some credit, it’s pretty hard to hit a 3rd story apartment with a rock.”

“Either way I’d prefer it a thousand times over rather than dealing with this for another day.”

“Agreed,” he took another puff, followed by coughing out both smoke and saliva before collecting himself, “Don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but this is just week one of a month-long event.”

“Oh how great. Truly fantastic.”

“Well hey, look on the brightside. Mr. 10-Month-Vacation may be forced to come back here to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart on top of them.”

“Psh, as if. Since when did he care about safety? I’m pretty sure the fourth floor has black mold. And the fifth barely even counts as indoors.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to hope, can it?”

“I suppose not.”

Petunia returned from her treacherous journey in the trash, pitter pattering up to Frankie and dropping an apple core at their feet.

“Oh, is this for me?”

“Looks like she’s bestowed upon you the highest honor of all: rotting garbage.”

“It’d be rude to not take it.”

“But of course.”

As Frankie crouched down to receive their gift, a kid seemingly working for the performers walked up to them with flyers.

“Hello there! Would you like to have one of these?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Come on, it’s free!”

“Again, no. Sorry.” Frankie shooed them away and turned back to Craig.

“I saw you pick up an apple core and stuff it in your pocket, surely–”

“No means no, now scram.” Frankie slightly raised their voice, looking the kid in the eyes. They weren’t actually mad, but would rather try to scare some child than deal with one for longer than needed.

Feigning shock for sympathy, the kid sorrowfully stomped away, then looked back hoping for a potential change of heart. Rather, they saw Frankie crouch back down to pet Petunia, and continued disappointedly over to the next group of onlookers.

“So anyhow Chris–”

“It’s Craig.”

“Right, sorry. Anyways, I’d best be heading inside; I’m hoping the bricks will muffle some of the sound.”

“Good luck with that, I’m gonna keep letting Petunia rummage through the trash. See you tomorrow when they somehow bring a trashcan to life and make it sing.”

“At this point I don’t doubt it. See you tomorrow Carl.”

“Still not my name.”

Frankie turned to hide their shame and swiftly shuffled into the building through a newly installed metal and glass door barely attached to its hinges. Just as they placed both feet inside, a small yet concerning chunk of the ceiling fell onto the ground before them, revealing the bottom of a bathtub.

“Hey Simon!” Frankie shouted up through the newly formed hole, seemingly caused by leaky water, ”Your floor’s broken again!”

“Aw man,” a resigned and sorrowful voice replied, seemingly from within the tub.

Frankie trudged to and up the slanted stairs, ones that any reasonable person would assume haven’t been fixed since their construction in the 1800s. Despite the fact they were the last part of the original building that somehow was still standing, Frankie knew the stairs would probably be the last thing to give out in this run down disappointment of a living space. Each step released wails and groans, begging to finally give out, and whenever one would place any amount of force on the 15th step it would dip half an inch. Half the steps had rusted nails that jutted out seemingly at random, and the other half had none at all. And yet, it somehow felt more secure than the flaky drywall and brick exterior.

After what felt like an eternity of cautious climbing, Frankie reached the third floor, and through damp wallpaper and dust filled carpets, Frankie made it to their room apartment. Frankie placed both of their hands on the knob, and with all the force they could twisted it and pried open their door. After such effort, they only wished to get to their room and go to bed. But as Frankie finally heaved the door open enough to get in, they gazed with despair at a conspicuously placed stone in the middle of a pile of broken glass. And, perfectly behind it, their remaining intact window had somehow shattered. Great, just the perfect way to end the day. And to make things worse, the flyer that the kid tried to hand them earlier was wrapped around it. Perhaps they overheard the story of the prior incident and chose to replicate it, or perhaps it was just a dumb kid getting needless revenge.

Frankie slumped over to their couch and collapsed; their bed was too far away for them at this point. All they wanted was to pass out and sleep enough for their 4:30 shift the next morning. Given how it seemed to be 7, this would surely be an easy task.

Frankie had no idea how long they had been laying on the couch for, but given the moon shining through broken glass, and the freezing air billowing through their window, it being midnight would be a reasonable assumption. It seemed as if the group outside was finally winding down, after a whole day of nonstop performing. Frankie had to respect their endurance, but wished they could have proven themselves anywhere else.

“Alright everyone!” The lead of the group must’ve taken the mic and brought it too close to their face, given the horrible microphone quality. “Thank you all for coming out here tonight!”

Oh thank god they’re finally leaving. Frankie sighed in relief.

“But the show isn’t over just yet!” And just like that, all of Frankie’s hopes for even a minute of sleep were crushed. “Up next is a single artist I think you’ll all enjoy, introducing,” a prerecorded drumroll played over the speakers, sounding more like static than anything, “the Trash Man!” Frankie could not believe their ears. Resigned to their fate, they sat up and, while avoiding shards of glass, walked over to peer out their window to see a man wearing a full metal trash can full of fake trash.

By some cruel twist of fate, these people somehow managed to actually get a trash can to perform live on stage. Frankie couldn’t even feel mad at this absurd development. There was a man dressed in trash singing a ballad about eating leftovers. It was the worst thing they’d ever heard, and yet they couldn’t be upset by it. They slightly grinned, then carefully shuffled over to their bedroom, followed by a long overdue collapse onto their bed.

In their final moments conscious before falling asleep, only one thought crossed their mind. Not of worry, or of disdain for the performers who kept them up so long. Rather, they reached into their pocket, and placed the apple core next to their bed, and remembered the little dog Petunia and passed out for the night, optimistic for tomorrow.