I’m Beatrice Kennedy, but everyone calls me Beat. I live a low-key life, fresh out of college and drifting from town to town until I find my home. I love music, and how it stirs even the deepest and untouched parts of your soul. Depending on what you choose to listen to, would depend on what it touches. It’s the drug we all damper in, only different strains. My strain is Jazz. The smooth instrumental strums that take over me. The sound of cigar smoke, bourbon and an old dusty fedora hat. My strain wasn’t rap, and it sure wasn’t laced with some A-class shit like murky blue eyes casted down from the Lord and the Devil’s handcrafted smile. I knew who he was—the whole world did. One fateful night set off a chain of events, events that no one was coming back from. You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved. You can’t pull them up from the ocean when they’ve latched themselves to an anchor. Love was my anchor, destruction was the water that was drowning me, and the rope that was so tightly clamped