Grant Gilliland

Video artist and part-time guidance counselor Randall Fabian (red bandana) rented out a neighborhood bar n’ grill to showcase his latest video piece “peanut butter melting down wall (pt25 of 60)”. Although many invitations were sent out through the mail over the previous month, the only attendees that night were the five members of his video production crew, all of which had not only seen the video in it’s entirety, but had also been busy editing the same piece over the past 72 hours. Still, the carthartic feeling of seeing this particular installment of Fabian’s video series completed was enough to drag them through the two-hour viewing…and of course, a few drinks later, the video was surprisingly tolerable. Still, the crew secretly couldn’t wait to leave, and most of them had pending plans later that night. Mannard was thinking about which house party to crash…would it be the punk house that smelled like stale bagels and dog pee? Maybe the one in the suburbs, since he could mess up a fancy couch or two…he hadn’t decided, but either way, his new studded wristband was in need of some showing-off. Annie still had band practice at 9, and was thinking about what sticker to put on her bass…should it be the anti-fur one? Perhaps the deer silhouette? She wasn’t quite sure…and it made her a bit antsy and unfocused. Bernal was going to try and bid one more time on some rare hats that he found on Inter-barter earlier that morning…could he afford the paisely one? If not, then the zebra patterned one probably…it was a hard debate going on in his head, and he tried with all his might to act really engaged in the video. Patterson had met a girl earlier at another establishment and was just trying to be polite and make it through the whole event without checking his phone…Was she over 18? Could he think of anymore jokes to tell? He hid inside his hoodie and worried a bit. Jefferson wanted to go party-hopping with Mannard later, and he hoped that his go-gettum attitude would signal to Mannard that he wanted to go, without actually having to say it. If he drank another drink, could he tag along and be able to keep up on foot while Mannard rides his bike? Had he washed his striped shirt since last month? He just hoped that time would unravel this mystery. All the while, Randall fought with a popcorn kernal in his teeth and thought to himself “I can’t wait until i’m able to afford a different crew, one that appreciates real art”