Prologue

He was a hungry artist, while he was a struggling pianist.

He was a struggling pianist, while he was a hungry artist.

Struggling and hungry, both thriving with talent as the world turned against the duo of poor scum, littering the planet with broken brushes and meaningful melodies. With the flavor of sound, an artist can eat. While the struggling pianist finds his freedom with his hands full of paint. They mix like colors, they move together in time to a beat, a beat of the heart. If the world is not where these outcasts belong, then why not in one another's hearts? Why be hungry when you inhale notes? Why struggle when there's a canvas bursting with color? Perhaps we will get answers. Who knows. Totally not me.