Joshua's parents had held high hopes for their only son, envisioning the many great achievements their darling little boy could accomplish in his prodigious lifetime. One bout of Meniere's Disease and a drop out from college later and Mr. and Mrs. Hall found their dreams hopelessly crushed. Joshua himself had his own prospects for the life his parents had so vicariously attempted to force upon him, concentrating his passions into music rather than macroeconomics.
His fingers idly danced along the silver band across his laptop's keyboard, chin pressed to his fist offhandedly. He was seated in a booth situated next to one of the broad windows lining the town's less popular social venues; a Second Cup tucked neatly into a street corner. He had gotten permission from the cafe's manager to work on his music there as long as he didn't disturb the other customers after he had explained that he wasn't allowed to do so at home. His parents were still pressuring him to seek out a "real job" and so they would be more than displeased to see how many hours he poured into transcribing musical notations and drawing treble clefs on stray napkins had he decided to set up office in his room.
Second Cup was not exactly an ideal place to conduct himself, either, but there wasn't a chance he could afford his own workplace (he could barely pay his own rent).
He heaved a great sigh, reaching for a new napkin from a disheveled stack, and, clicking his pen, began sketching a new music score.