The view from the 717 Olympic building always managed to distract Justin from his self loathing. It didn't matter how much resentment he felt for the city that once owned him, he still loved it. He loved the energy that flowed through the streets, and the music that poured out of the clubs all along Sunset. His favorite sound, and feeling out of it all though was the sound of the crowd from the Staples Center. It traveled down the street, and on nights that the Lakers were playing, the sound easily made its way to Justin's building.The sound of thousands of people applauding and cheering still made him smile. It was still amazing to him how quickly he went from being the source of that applause and cheer, to only being able to hear it from outside his luxury apartment building.
Four years of not performing on a stage was hard. After the lights dimmed on him with angry boos, plastic cups and water bottles being thrown at him in Detroit, he knew his career had hit a stand still. He saw no way he could recover from the disappointment he had caused these people he once called his fans. His house in the hills downgraded to the one bedroom apartment he now rented. His Mercedes turned into a Honda, and his entourage went from a crew of 20 to 2. His name was tarnished and used in every late night talk show opening joke session. His music questioned, probed, and accused of being nothing but stolen tracks from real artists.
He pulled out one of the chairs that sat around the fire pit and dropped down into it. The fire continued to burn in front of him, and he picked up the poker to break apart the ash remains of the magazine article. Justin was tired of being discredited for his original work. He was human, and humans made mistakes. Redemption was something he wanted more than anything. He wanted a clean slate, and his name removed from the joke pool. The only problem he was now facing was finding a break or opportunity to get there. He was desperate and eager to be in the mainstream again. The industry had acted like a parental figure to him, without its guidance and acceptance he was nothing. His identity and true self was bought and sold many years ago. The only way he could regain it was to get back in the game and redeem himself.
He dumped the remaining water from his water bottle onto the fire. The Lakers game had ended now, and the crowds roar had died down. Justin had sat outside many times before, but tonight was the first time he'd had an epiphany. Existing and living in the past was not how he wanted to be remembered. He was a musician through and through and he belonged in the limelight. The stage WAS his home, and as much as he hated the Neil Owens article, he came to realize that the reason he hated it so much, was because he'd made him feel vulnerable and exposed. Justin didn't belong on the bleachers or on the outside looking in, he was made to be the main act, and that was exactly what he was going to be again. The scary thing about his determination was that he was willing to do whatever he had to do to get there once more. He just hoped that this time it wouldn't be exposed.