Scenes of a Manehattan Musician (Strat's Tale)

by Stratocaster

Into the Hive

I always love train rides. It really is the most civilized way to travel. I'll take six hours on the rails over two hours in the air. Figures, I'm a pegasus and yet I hate flying, even with my own wings. But I didn't care if I would be judged for taking a train to Manehattan. This whole thing was my choice. I took the risk of facing much worse.
The lighting was low in the public cabin. This was probably due to most of the other ponies on board drifting off to sleep, sitting sparsely among rows of empty seats. I couldn't blame them. The 2:50 trip was taking longer than I expected and it was well into the night. Glows of life still awake were gliding by my window. Small towns carrying on their humble existence. Full of ponies who probably are content where they are. The thought of travelling far from their minds.
I could feel myself beginning to doze off as well. The clacking of the rails like a broken drumbeat. The distant chugging of the engine pulling us. The faint whoosh of air passing outside just inches from my glass-pressed face. All just white noise pushing me closer and closer towards dreamland. In a way I was already kinda there.

"Next stop, Manehattan Central, end of line." The conductor called at the front of the cabin.

Dreamland would have to wait. I sat upright and rubbed my face, trying to shake off the cobwebs. In just a few minutes I would be taking my first step into a larger world.
The haze of nighttime travel faded. The gradual slowing of the train heralded the arrival into the largest city in Equestria. Which I thought I would be able to get a great look at at this point. But all around my view were concrete slabs of infrastructure and only tips of industrial structures peeking out from behind. Not sure what else I was expecting. But the fact that I was able to see anything due to light pollution meant I was really here.
Eventually, after braking through a long stretch of concrete tunnel, the train finally lurched to a halt in an underground station. The cabin lights came on, shrinking my pupils and frying away any last remnants of sleepiness. Along with the other passengers I stretched my legs and loosened my neck, ready to finally use these tired muscles again.

"Now arriving, Manehattan Central." The conductor came again. "Next departure at 9:30."

Relieved that I wouldn't have to hurry, at the moment, I grabbed my two bags from the overhead rack. In my saddlebag, a few books, a notepad, a couple sandwiches, water, and of course my thin wallet. In the other bag, my ax. My six-string acoustic companion who never leaves my sight. Strapping her tight to my back as if handling a foal, I made my way off the last train I would take in a while.
Hooves clopped on tile as I exited the train and strode through the underground platform. It was at this point when I realized I was being herded out of the metal canister that brought me here while a hundred more sardines packed into it. Still, better than being packed like sardines in a metal canister thirty-thousand feet in the air.
The subterranean terminal led me and the sardines into a massive indoor expanse. The Manehattan Central Station had the feel of a zeppelin hangar with room to spare, bathed in soft lamplight and echoing with a chorus of murmurs and chatter. After gawking up at the abstract mural on the high ceiling like a bird at its reflection, I then found my way to the information kiosk. A mare with a heavily made up face and a glazed stare greeted me with a pop of her gum.

"Hello!" I said, smiling friendly and touristy. "Can you give me directions to the Lipizzaner Towers, please?"

The mare pointed loosely with one hoof and held her cheek with the other. "Intersection of 81st and Canter Street."

"Thank you!" I said and walked away before realizing I had no freaking idea where either of those streets were.

I then realized that I also had no idea what any of the streets were called in this city. You'd think I would've had the mind to study these before leaving. Fortunately I saw a stack of maps and brochures, grabbed a hoofful and hoped that one of them would give me straightforward directions around this hive. And so I exited the station to join the bees.
Surprisingly I expected music to play as I walked out onto the sidewalk. There was. It was a symphony of honking vehicles, construction, sirens, clops and more chatter. I looked up to see if the night sky was really different from the one back home. There was no sky. Just walls of concrete, glass and steel that forced my head to tilt back like a broken patio umbrella. Embers of light from windows, traffic and shop signs danced across my vision and challenged it to keep up. It took a probably accidental shove from a passerby to break me out of my dopey trance. I backed up against the wall of the station to avoid hoof traffic and consulted one of the maps.
In case you couldn't catch my drift, Manehattan's a big place. So I don't know why it surprised me that the map was just an endless mesh of black lines with some colorful lines weaving across it. It came to my knowledge that these colored lines were subways and that the street lines exceeded one hundred. After a few minutes of careful study, I deduced that I should start walking to my right and head north. The reason I decided not to take flight was to blend in with the local pedestrians; also because flying with bags on your back is a pain in the flank. But I hoped dearly that I wouldn't make myself look like a lost tourist again.

I walked up what I learned was 27th Avenue trying to keep up with the native Manehattaners who were walking at a near trot. But it really is like they say; you can't help but look up. The buildings are just mountains of construction. There are hundreds or thousands of ponies' lives unfolding in close quarters above your head. A mare dumped wet garbage out of her apartment window in an alley. Just a constant buzz of activity that you can't begin to comprehend. It was spectacular.
And the sounds just culminating into a background cacophony of metal and industry. It's not deafening and yet you can't hear yourself think simply because all your senses are at full alert. And the voices of the ponies here all converge in a weave of conversation.

"Move it, ya jackass, the light's green!"

It was almost too much to take in. As a musician it really made me think about how you can find music from just simple sounds in nature or in civilization. In a way, anything can really be an instrument and life is like a big harmony and there was a guy puking into an open manhole. The cop nearby didn't appear to be aware of this. He seemed to be busy fixing his bicycle. Some ponies were taking pictures. There was a dog licking up some of the puke. Ah, city magic.

"Hey buddy!" a male voice came, causing me to dart around. "Yeah you, blue!" A stallion sort of dressed like a newsy approached me from a perpendicular sidewalk as I waited for the light to change at a crossing. "Hey buddy, you lookin' for a good time?"

I froze with fear.

"Ya like musicals?" he asked.

I relaxed a bit. "I guess so."

"Well you're in luck!" the guy then pulled out a stack of pamphlets. "There's a new show opening up in town. It's called Hoofilton! It's beautiful! You're gonna love it! Wanna take a program?"

"Um, sure." I replied, genuinely interested, and took a program. The cover had an eccentric-looking pony in a powdered wig.

"Hey if you like that!" another stallion similarly dressed appeared. "There's a new production of Pegasus of the Opera coming out tomorrow! It's a classic! Why don't you take a program?"

"A-a-alright." I took the other program absent-mindedly.

"Wait wait wait!" A third theater advertising pony approached. "You can't come to Manehattan without seeing King Sombra and I! Come on take a program!"

Something told me then, as I acquired a third program, that I shouldn't have took that first one.

"Hey have ya heard about opening night of My Left Hoof?" came a program peddler.

"Or Manespray!" came another. "You just gotta see Manespray!"

"Stallions with Dolls!"

"A Stagecoach Named Desire!"

"Glengallop Glenross!"

"CLOP!"

The crossing light switched and I made my escape. I blended into the crowd of pedestrians and caused the program ponies to lose sight of me. It was a close call, but now I was stuck with more pamphlets than I ever wanted. If this is how playwrights spread the word, then I feel better about being a rock musician. Although that Hoofilton play sounded interesting.
A bit later I could hear and feel my stomach snarling like a pissed-off wildcat. I had sandwiches in my saddlebag (one egg salad, one ham and oats) but I felt stupid thinking about taking them out and nibbling on them while walking in this public. Miraculously, a red neon sign reading Mozz's Pizza beckoned me from across the next crosswalk. It looked like the kind of pizza joint that fit my budget, so I trotted in without much hesitation. Can't christen my arrival in Manehattan without some authentic Manehattan pizza. That's what you do, right?

Now, in my experience, pizza usually came to me via waitress or delivery guy. This kind of service must be somewhere in between. The technically restaurant was cramped with only a few tables and a counter where pizzas were prominently displayed by the cash register; a few brick ovens burned behind. I stood in line behind several ponies and gawked at the finished pies, saliva overflowing. Crunchy, lightly blackened crust still fluffy on the inside. Baked gooey cheese with inviting elements of feta, gouda and mozzarella. Tangy tomato sauce oozing like lava beneath that surface. And those veggies were calling my name. Those peppers. So crisp and fresh. And paired with the olives and tomatoes and-

"Ey! Whaddya want?!"

I looked up startled at the Roaman gentlecolt behind the counter. I had been so transfixed by the cheesy seductress that I didn't even see that I was next in line. What's more, I hadn't even decided on an order. On top of that, a few customers had already lined up behind me, keeping the door open. I calmly got my act together.

"I, uh, th- the, I'll have, uh...the uh, th- the-"

"Come on come on come on come on!" the purveyor spoke, flailing his hoof.

"Peppers!" I blurted out the first topping on my mind.

"What kind?" he asked.

"Re- uh, green!"

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many?!"

"...How many peppers?"

"Slices, pal!"

"Oh, uh, two?"

"Ten bits." He said extending a hoof and typing on the register with the other.

I then delighted the patient crowd behind me by fumbling to get my wallet out of my saddlebag. Afraid of dropping any on the floor, I hurriedly counted out coins on the counter. The purveyor quickly swiped all ten that I shoveled out and put them in the register.

"Next!" he exclaimed.

A few seconds later I realized he was talking to the next patron who suddenly stepped in front of me to place their order. With my wallet still in hoof, I stumbled and took a seat at one of the somehow available tables. I guess no one sits down often since everypony is always on the go. I took a minute to breathe and relax my mind. As somepony with the social capabilities of a mouse in a snake pit, the pace of Manehattan was proving to be hazardous.

"Two peppers!"

Beckoned by the word 'peppers', I looked up in amazement at how quickly my order came. I stood and took the paper plate containing my two slices, which I assumed came from a pie baked with magic, and sat back down. I carefully held one slice like Celestia's crown and took a bite. Instantly my mouth was awash in steamy, cheesy, zesty flavor, after suffering a considerable burn to the tongue that I was too hungry to avoid.
For several brief, heavenly minutes, I wolfed down both slices and savored each blessed bite. And even afterward I felt like I could've eaten more. But I knew I had to watch what cash I had on me. And besides, time was wasting and I still hadn't reached my destination. After drinking a bit from the water bottle in my bag, I departed the hole-in-the-wall and imagined what the pizzas in the more high-end restaurants were like. Probably topped with caviar and gold shavings.

About an hour's worth of walking and gawking I managed to get under my belt afterward. It then dawned on me that I had vastly underestimated how much walking it would take to traverse just one borough of this city. My hooves ached like hell, my back strained from carrying saddlebag and guitar and a night chill was starting to nip at my ears. And I was certainly in no condition to move my wings. Not even in the next life would I have made a strong plow horse. Or a Wonderbolt for that matter.
It occurred to me that I should have taken a taxi or the subway. But then again taxis require money that I didn't have and subways are pretty much mobile bacteria vials. Still, I should have just put up with the subway instead of just wasting the revitalized energy I got from the pizza, and in turn developing a stomach cramp. And yet the streets signs told me that I was just a few blocks away from 81st Street. I knew I could trek just a little farther. Safely, however?...

It also took me that long to realize that signs of life around me were becoming less and less plentiful. When I exited the station, there was bumper-to-stallion traffic covering the road and I was able to lose myself in a striding crowd. Now the streets had become decidedly empty and before long there were no other pedestrians around me. This must have been what happens when you travel farther north in Manehattan. Needless to say I was unnerved.
In the darkness the architecture became less and less inviting and lights depleted like the amount of stagecoaches on the road. I became tense with every sound. Shrill sirens, crashing metal, indistinct shouting, even cats yowling put me on edge. Just a few more blocks. Just a little more walking and I could rest my weary hooves and mind.

"Hey you! C'mere!" a gruff voice alerted me from my left. A stallion in baggy dark clothes approached with an irritated look on his face. "Hey man take this, will ya?" he said rapidly, pressing a wrinkled paper bag into my hoof. "Come on man, take it alright? Be cool. Help me out." Every frozen, frightened nerve in my body refused to take the bag or much less speak. "Just take it, come on!" the hooligan grew evermore forceful.

"Stop right there! Police!" An pair of officers sprinted up the sidewalk to my relief and further startling. The hooligan with the bag immediately took off down the sidewalk as the cop in front gave him chase. The other one slowed down to a walk as he gave me a stern point. "Stay off the streets, kid!" he said before catching up with his partner.

When the chase finally left my sight, I found myself breathing faster than a blood pressure pump; in fact my blood was coursing through my body like a raging river. Every blue bit of fur on me stood on end as I struggled to regain control of my quaking legs. I then did a double and triple take looking around me for any other approaching strangers, whether for the law or on the other side of it. With a few deep breaths and a restart of my aching hooves, I headed down the last block to my destination, wondering where my life would've gone if I had been caught holding that bag.

At long last, the next street sign read 81st, and just down to my right was a brick building with the neon letters "Lipizzaner Towers". It's a wonder I was able to read that in my bleary state. Despite the bleakness of the neighborhood, the Lipizzaner Towers looked like a nice standard apartment building with eight floors; definitely less fancy than what I expected from the name, but it still looked cozy somehow.
I walked up the stoop and entered through old wooden double doors. Inside I stood in a compact wooden foyer with dimmed lighting and basic decor. To my left was the only other pony in the room, a middle-aged stallion sitting at a small desk and reading a newspaper. He was dressed like a doorman but clearly didn't act like one.

"Hello," I said in a hushed tone to match the still atmosphere. "Uh, I'm a new tenant. I was wondering if you had a key?"

The "doorman" didn't look up from his paper, but simply grabbed the only key that was sitting atop the desk and handed it to me without a word. I took the key and saw it was labelled 5D.

"Thank you." I said, not sure why.

I headed across the foyer to the elevator on the far wall. The paper taped to the door read "Out of order". Awesome. I forced my weak legs to slowly climb the narrow staircase five flights until I reached the correct floor. That is, it was correct until I saw the stairwell door had a number four on it. One more flight of stairs and I limped down the corridor to the door marked 5D. Sanctuary.
I opened the door to find an empty wood-floored apartment only occupied by stacks of boxes and suitcases. Thankfully the movers managed to transport the rest of my belongings here before I did. But for some reason I expected them to handle it all carefully. A pony with energy would have gotten right down to unpacking.
Then I noticed that I was standing on an envelope that must have been slid under the door. After setting down my saddlebag and guitar, I grabbed and opened the letter that was inside.

Dear Stratocaster,

We are very excited to begin work with you here at Ponydor Records. Unfortunately, due to overbooking of the studios, we will have to reschedule your interview to a later day. Apologies for the inconvenience, but we will let you know when you can come in. We look forward to seeing your talents in person and hope you enjoy the move to Manehattan.

Sincerely,
Vinyl Platinum, CEO

Figures, I plan my trip the day before my big interview and it gets pushed back. I crumpled up the letter and tossed it, littering my apartment after one minute of living in it. Luckily the apartment was small enough so that I didn't have to tire myself even more by inspecting it. It just entered into a main living space with a kitchen nook to the left, and to the right was an out-cove leading to the bathroom with the bedroom on the far right corner. And that was it other than the closet in between. Welcome to single living, buddy.
Stepping across the creaky wood floor, I found the box that contained my sleeping bag and only unpacked that, not even caring about finding my bed sheets or my toothbrush for that matter. All I needed was sleep. Nothing more. And I knew that, as I laid the sleeping bag out by the wide window overlooking the lifeless street, I would drift quickly out of consciousness once I lied down. And so I did...but somehow sleep didn't come. I was too busy getting hit in the face by reality.

I remember seeing a movie at my hometown theater when I was a colt. It was about this pretty young mare looking to make it big in Manehattan as a singer. There was a scene where she stepped off a carriage and sang a song about making it after all. I really hoped she got mugged.
My mind was clouded with doubt as I lay on the hard floor in my nylon sleeping bag and stared up at the dormant ceiling fan. Outside was a glowing, buzzing world that I had greatly misjudged. In just one night I felt more anxiety than I'd ever felt in every first day of school combined. And here I was planning an indefinite stay in Manehattan. The questions blared in my jaded head. Am I going to okay? Was this move worth it? Was this just a big mistake? Should I just go back home?...Home...

For me home was a small, sleepy suburb outside Trotston farther north. I'd been in the city of Trotston several times so I wasn't unfamiliar with metro life; but there it was different somehow, more humble, more relaxed, like I belonged there. Maybe that was why the energy and sheer size of Manehattan were so alien to me. Or maybe this was just what happens to every pony who leaves their parents.
My mother and father had always supported me, even when I told them I wanted to play guitar and write music. And yet it was still a surprise to them when, after I finished my arts degree, I said I wanted to move out immediately and start a music career. And I had sent a letter to a major record label in Manehattan applying for a recording job. A little much to take in, right? But it was even an even bigger shock to me when my dad said he'd find me an apartment and arrange me a trip. I think I felt bad about expecting him to say no. Nevertheless my folks saw me off with love and luck.
And now I was starting to regret my own decision not three hours in the city. I felt like a gargantuan idiot. Not just for taking my parents' support for granted, but for stepping into an environment in which I had no control. I knew in my bones that I was going to get eaten alive. No one to live with, no one to help me, no one to give any kind of comfort at all. The doubt and homesickness now turned into fear and doom as I lay on my sore back. And I could feel that fear welling up under my eyes. I never wanted to be this alone.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I jolted up in my sleeping bag. It occurred to me that I forgot to lock the door to my new apartment, adding to my own self-pity. Trying to keep my breathing steady, I stood up and walked over to open the door. I expected the building's landlord to be on the other side waiting to grill me about entering by myself. But the face I saw was way too kind to be a landlord.
It belonged to a petite mare with a milky white coat with teal eyes and matching mane cut in neat rounded bangs. She wore some kind of purple collar or ascot around her neck, a flower pin in her mane and her cutie mark featured a fancy chapeau. My nerves seemed to have calmed down again.

"Oh, um...hi." She said in a light voice and smiled.

I leaned against the door frame and grinned as well. "What's up?" I said, pretending like I knew a thing or two about talking to the opposite sex.

"Uh, sorry to bother you, I know it's really late," the mare said, appearing rather coy. "But I heard that we were getting a new tenant and I just wanted to bid you welcome to Manehattan...So uh, welcome to Manehattan!"

"Oh, uh, thank you!" I gleamed. Honestly I was thrown off guard by that one statement. "You live here too?"

"Oh yes, I'm a floor above you." She replied. "Don't worry, you won't hear a peep from me."

I chuckled sheepishly. "I guess that's more than what I can say." I said as I glanced down at the guitar leaning against the wall.

The mare seemed to have noticed my glance. "Are you a musician?" she asked.

"Uh, oh yeah!" I nodded. "Yes, I uh, I like to play. From time to time." Like to play?! From time to time?! You moron!

"That's wonderful!" she seemed genuinely intrigued. "I'd like to hear you sometime."

I looked at her with slight elation. "Yeah. Definitely." I said, giving her a less forced grin.

"Well, I should get to bed." She said, brushing her hoof over her mane. "If you need any help getting around, just come up to 6D and see me. I know how tough it can be for outsiders."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." I said.

"So uh, have a good night!" she bid and turned back down the hall.

"Oh wait!" I called after her. "What's your name?"

She stopped and turned back. "Oh sorry, I'm Coco. Coco Pommel. And you?"

"Stratocaster. My friends call me Strat."

"Well then, best of luck in Manehattan, Strat!" she smiled and finally exited.

"Seeya around!" I said with a wave. I closed the door and stood still for a moment, wrapping my head around what just happened. That weird grin still on my face.

At that moment, all my fear and woe suddenly vanished. I couldn't believe that just one bit of small talk with a stranger could do that. In fact that was the most pony interaction I had in Manehattan so far. And that mare, Coco, was the first pony to actually bid me welcome. Could such a simple encounter really do wonders for my mind? Of course that's when I remembered what my mom told me before, "If you can find one pony who will make you feel welcome, then it's worth staying." That was oddly fortuitous.
But in that small, quiet, empty, dark apartment, I was renewed with hope (as sappy as that sounds). And now I was going to have a hard time sleeping for a different reason. It became apparent what I had to do. I opened my saddlebag, found my notepad and a pen and sat on the windowsill, overlooking the twinkling urban jungle sprawled out. I began writing with only that as my light, while eating the sandwiches that I had brought.

Dear Mum and Dad,

Just letting you know that I made it safe and sound. It took a little getting used to but I finally checked into my apartment at the Lipizzaner Towers. It's pretty nice, just the right amount of space. I got to tour comfortably through much of the city and took in the beautiful sights. I met with plenty of locals who were very friendly and helpful. I even sampled some fine dining. Also I got a letter from Ponydor Records saying they'd be happy to interview me. I can't wait to get started in my new music job! It's pretty late at night now and I'm just about to hit the hay. But I'm still excited to see what'll await me tomorrow. And thank you so much for helping me out with this. It wasn't an easy decision but you guys supported me through it. I can't tell you how grateful I am. I miss you, and I'll be sure to write to you again soon.

Love you both!
Strat

After finishing my letter, and both sandwiches, I tucked the paper to my bag to remind myself to mail it the next day. And obviously the next day was well on my mind. But in that moment, I was warmed by my feelings of both restored hope and satisfaction. There was no telling what would happen to me when I woke up in that small apartment. For better or worse, I was here. I made my decision. I was going to see it through. And so I lay down to sleep, and boarded the train to dreamland. And yes, Coco was on board.