That night he took a long, reflective walk after the terrible experience he had gone through at the job interview. Still worried about his future, he directed his steps toward his favorite local pizzeria, a small and slightly rundown place, but with the best pepperoni slices in the city.
He sat in his usual corner, with the guitar resting on the chair beside him, thinking about ordering the usual, a large pizza just for himself.
The walk, with its streets full of hurried people and flickering neon signs, had given him the chance to organize his thoughts.
The pizzeria, with its smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce, was his refuge, a place where he could feel comfortable and forget his problems, even if only for a moment.
While he waited, he took out his notebook and began to doodle on a wrinkled page, a sketch of a face that resembled someone he had seen on the subway that morning, a guitar with wings, and a quick drawing of the computer, the strange machine he had seen in the technology store.
His mind wandered as the pencil moved almost without thinking. His doodles, like reflections of his thoughts, intertwined and overlapped, creating a collage of images and emotions.
The portrait of the face he had seen on the subway, with its tired and distant expression, became a symbol of what he was feeling. He drew horns on the figure's head and wrote the words "poor devils" beneath the drawing.
The guitar with wings was his dream of freedom.
The strange machine, a reminder of a new but uncertain world.
When the waitress came to take his order, he smiled nervously.
It was Dany, a girl with curly hair and a bold, vibrant attitude, who had worked there almost since he first started coming to the place.
While she attended other tables, he, distracted, drew her, and when he finished outlining her profile he wrote her name in the notebook. "Dany." He surrounded it with lines that looked like musical staffs and traced a few loose notes above it, trying to turn her name into a melody.
When she came back, she noticed what he was doing. Seeing herself portrayed, along with her name written in ink, she asked:
—What are you doing now? —she said, with a mix of annoyance and disdain.
—Nothing —he replied, nervously—. I'm writing a new song.
—Ugh, at least I hope it's not a song about me —she said, raising an eyebrow with a smile somewhere between mocking and irritated—. And I hope it doesn't have those horrible modern sounds I don't understand.
He forced a smile.
—Don't worry… it doesn't have electric guitar yet.
—Good —she replied, before turning to attend another table.
He stayed silent, watching her walk away.
At that moment, the owner of the place, a man with a firm voice, approached the counter and, believing he was speaking quietly, asked:
—Is that guy bothering you, Dany? If you want, I'll kick him out.
He managed to hear the conversation, and the phrase hit him like a bucket of cold water.
Dany hesitated for a second, looked at him with a confused expression, and after a pause that felt endless to him, replied with indifference:
—No, he's nobody.
The words lodged in his heart like a splinter. He lowered his gaze just as one of his clip-on earrings came loose and fell onto the table. He turned red and nervous. Embarrassed, he picked it up clumsily, feeling that this small accident summed up his situation, an attempt to seem different and special that ended up falling apart in front of others. Dany saw him and held back a laugh. He put the earring back on, swallowed hard, and forced himself to act as if nothing had happened, while the owner watched him with a suspicious look, as if waiting for him to make a mistake so he could throw him out.
But he was already preparing for one last move.
He had tried it before, many times, but his persistent and somewhat clumsy nature pushed him to try once more. Dany, with her sauce-stained apron and skeptical gaze, was a reminder of reality, a contrast to the fantasy world he took refuge in.
—Thanks, Dany. Did you know that nobody brings a pizza with as much style as you do? —he said, trying to sound casual, but with a tone that betrayed his nervousness.
That line, rehearsed a thousand times in his head, came out awkward and forced from his lips. He felt the blush rise to his cheeks, aware that his attempt at flirting had failed.
Dany looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if already anticipating what would come next.
—Uh-huh. Anything else, Álex?
—Well… uh, I was thinking that maybe, when you get off work, we could go for a… I don't know, a walk, or something. What do you say?
He noticed his voice trembling as he spoke and felt a fear of rejection that had become familiar. But hope, even if faint, pushed him to try once again.
She crossed her arms and looked at him with a mix of pity and frustration.
—Álex, I've told you before. I would never go out with a guy like you.
He faked a confident smile to cover his embarrassment.
—A guy like me? A talented, mysterious guy, full of artistic passion?
His smile, now tenser than ever, was an attempt to save his self-esteem and show that he was relaxed, but nothing could have been further from what he was actually feeling inside.
Dany let out a dry laugh.
—No. A guy who lives dreaming and doesn't have his feet on the ground. Look, I don't like artists, ok? Maybe if you grew up a bit, got a real job, and stopped living in a fantasy world, someone might find you attractive. But not me.
The blow left him speechless for a second.
—Ah… right. Well, thanks for your honesty, Dany. Always so… sincere.
The silence that followed his words was a reminder of his loneliness, of his isolation.
He felt like he was sinking into a sea of rejection, a sea of doubts. She smiled sideways, picked up her order pad, and walked away, leaving him alone with his pizza.
Álex sighed, lowered his gaze, and saw the endless string of cheese trying to escape, as if mocking him from the slice, melted and sticky, it seemed like a symbol of his life, an irreparable mess. He felt an urge to laugh, to cry, to scream, but he held back, aware that no one would understand him.
When he finally managed to put the cheese back onto the slice, it fell directly onto his notebook, leaving a greasy stain on the drawing he was working on. An accident in his work, which felt like yet another failure. He felt a chill, a premonition that something terrible was about to happen.
—Great, neither Dany nor the cheese are on my side —he said to himself—. What's wrong with you? Even the cheese doesn't respect you? —he murmured, with a bitter smile.
The smile, ironic and sad, was an attempt to find humor in the situation, a way not to let himself be defeated by despair.
While he ate, a murmur of thought tried to surface, telling him that all his problems in life were due to having chosen art as his passion and way of life, that he was a loser. But that thought could not fully take shape. There was something inside him that prevented him from hearing it clearly and paying attention to it. The voice, insistent and cruel, was an echo of the doubts that tormented him. Should he finally give up on his dreams, look for a stable job, settle for a mediocre life? But something inside him, a spark of rebellion, refused to give in to the darkness.
Once he finished his pizza, he pulled his sketchbook and song lyrics closer and looked at the stained page with resignation. Then he began to laugh out loud, a sound that filled the space and seemed to surprise even Álex himself.
No one joined his laughter, but he didn't care. For a few seconds, he felt less alone, even with Dany's fresh rejection and the disaster of the stain. His laughter, contrasting and liberating, was an act of rebellion, a way of saying that he would not be defeated by adversity.
He knew he was alone, but he refused to feel alone.
In the end, he paid the bill, picked up his guitar and his stained notebook, and left the place thinking about how small moments like that reminded him that, even if he had no one, he would always have his art.
The night, with its vibrant lights and fresh air, gave him a sense of freedom. He knew his path was difficult, but he was willing to keep moving forward and see what life had in store for him.