Bailey was growing tired of the backwater life of Illinois. His music career was taking off, somewhat, people knew his songs, people knew him, and he wanted to ride that high. But moving elsewhere was a prospect he didn’t quite want to face. Trading in the fields for the cities, was not yet something on the cards. But still, it was getting rather stale here.

His blue-grey eyes flick over the fields idly, as he considers all of this. He had friends here, he could still tour, he could still make his music. He might’ve been a musician now, but Bailey was still surprisingly blue-collar.

He fluffs up the golden-brown hair on his head, considering shielding his eyes from the warm sun. Bailey just couldn’t figure out what was keeping him here.