Once Paul's mind was made up, he decided to get started right away. He packed some of his things in a backpack, a few changes of clothes and his pocket money, but also a lot of records and other musical items. His guitarra was put into its case and set lovingly por the door where it would be ready to go as soon as he needed it.
cena was very quiet, partly because Paul and Jim had just argued, but mostly because Paul didn't want to accidentally let slip anything about his plans and make his dad suspicious. After cena he excused himself quickly and slipped away upstairs.
Paul waited until he heard his brother Michael go into his room and put on one of his own rock and roll records, and his father went to another part of the house. Hopefully they would both think Paul had gone to cama early and wouldn't wonder where he was until at least the morning. Paul slipped on his backpack, took his guitarra case por the handles, and quietly slipped out of the house.
Paul walked up and down several streets for some time, as the sun sank lower on the horizon. He had nearly reached the bus stop on Penny Lane, and was considering getting on the bus and going somewhere where he could become a rock star, when it occurred to him: he really didn't know where to go o what to do next. There were probably lots of recording studios and concierto venues in Liverpool - all over England - but Paul didn't know where to find them o how to convince them to take him on.
But Paul wasn't going to give up. There had to be some way! He watched a bus pull into the stop and leave again, thinking. How had any of the rock stars he admired gotten their starts? What studios had they used? Well, most of the records he had in his backpack weren't even made in England. A lot of them were American.
Maybe that was the answer, then! America was known as the Land of Opportunity, wasn't it? Why couldn't it have the opportunity for Paul to become a rock star? As an added bonus, it would be a lot harder for anyone to find him and drag him inicial before he was ready. So now all he had to do was make it to the airport and fly over to the States, which being a somewhat larger goal, seemed a lot más promising than figuring out where he should ride the bus to to give himself the best chance of making it big. At least, it would give him más time before he had to figure out his siguiente step. And maybe in America, his siguiente step would become obvious. He could always hope so, anyway.
As Paul walked on, he noticed how dark it was getting. He hadn't expected it to get dark quite so soon, and he was tired and hungry. He wished he had packed something to eat. Maybe he should have gotten on the bus at Penny Lane and ridden that to the airport. It would have been quicker and easier than walking all this way. But before he could decide to turn back, Paul took another step adelante, hacia adelante and felt grass.
Instead of sidewalks and buildings, Paul was now surrounded por trees and bushes. The air around him was peaceful and still. Something smelled good, too - fresh and fruity. Paul's mouth watered. He had eaten dinner, but all the walking was building up his appetite. Paul felt something soft squish under his shoe, and bent down to check. It was a small, juicy red frutas - a strawberry.
His eyes adjusting to the dim light, Paul thought he could make out many más strawberries growing on the bushes around him. Eagerly, he plucked one and ate it. It was delicious. Paul spent a happy several minutos picking and eating as many strawberries as he could reach, until he wasn't hungry anymore.
That would do for tonight. Paul could sleep right here; this place seemed safe, and there was less chance of being found por the police who would make him go home. Tomorrow he would eat más strawberries and make his way back to the bus stop to go to the airport. Satisfied with this plan, Paul searched for a place to lie down.
He nearly walked into a huge tree. This árbol had invitingly low branches just right for climbing around in. Paul's mind was made up. Setting his things at the base of the tree, he began to climb, feeling at the branches to be sure he wouldn't lose his footing and fall in the dark. He soon found himself in a lovely nook just made for leaning back and watching the world go by, at least when it was light out and tu could see the world. Paul yawned happily, content with that night's progress, and fell asleep feeling happy and safe.
cena was very quiet, partly because Paul and Jim had just argued, but mostly because Paul didn't want to accidentally let slip anything about his plans and make his dad suspicious. After cena he excused himself quickly and slipped away upstairs.
Paul waited until he heard his brother Michael go into his room and put on one of his own rock and roll records, and his father went to another part of the house. Hopefully they would both think Paul had gone to cama early and wouldn't wonder where he was until at least the morning. Paul slipped on his backpack, took his guitarra case por the handles, and quietly slipped out of the house.
Paul walked up and down several streets for some time, as the sun sank lower on the horizon. He had nearly reached the bus stop on Penny Lane, and was considering getting on the bus and going somewhere where he could become a rock star, when it occurred to him: he really didn't know where to go o what to do next. There were probably lots of recording studios and concierto venues in Liverpool - all over England - but Paul didn't know where to find them o how to convince them to take him on.
But Paul wasn't going to give up. There had to be some way! He watched a bus pull into the stop and leave again, thinking. How had any of the rock stars he admired gotten their starts? What studios had they used? Well, most of the records he had in his backpack weren't even made in England. A lot of them were American.
Maybe that was the answer, then! America was known as the Land of Opportunity, wasn't it? Why couldn't it have the opportunity for Paul to become a rock star? As an added bonus, it would be a lot harder for anyone to find him and drag him inicial before he was ready. So now all he had to do was make it to the airport and fly over to the States, which being a somewhat larger goal, seemed a lot más promising than figuring out where he should ride the bus to to give himself the best chance of making it big. At least, it would give him más time before he had to figure out his siguiente step. And maybe in America, his siguiente step would become obvious. He could always hope so, anyway.
As Paul walked on, he noticed how dark it was getting. He hadn't expected it to get dark quite so soon, and he was tired and hungry. He wished he had packed something to eat. Maybe he should have gotten on the bus at Penny Lane and ridden that to the airport. It would have been quicker and easier than walking all this way. But before he could decide to turn back, Paul took another step adelante, hacia adelante and felt grass.
Instead of sidewalks and buildings, Paul was now surrounded por trees and bushes. The air around him was peaceful and still. Something smelled good, too - fresh and fruity. Paul's mouth watered. He had eaten dinner, but all the walking was building up his appetite. Paul felt something soft squish under his shoe, and bent down to check. It was a small, juicy red frutas - a strawberry.
His eyes adjusting to the dim light, Paul thought he could make out many más strawberries growing on the bushes around him. Eagerly, he plucked one and ate it. It was delicious. Paul spent a happy several minutos picking and eating as many strawberries as he could reach, until he wasn't hungry anymore.
That would do for tonight. Paul could sleep right here; this place seemed safe, and there was less chance of being found por the police who would make him go home. Tomorrow he would eat más strawberries and make his way back to the bus stop to go to the airport. Satisfied with this plan, Paul searched for a place to lie down.
He nearly walked into a huge tree. This árbol had invitingly low branches just right for climbing around in. Paul's mind was made up. Setting his things at the base of the tree, he began to climb, feeling at the branches to be sure he wouldn't lose his footing and fall in the dark. He soon found himself in a lovely nook just made for leaning back and watching the world go by, at least when it was light out and tu could see the world. Paul yawned happily, content with that night's progress, and fell asleep feeling happy and safe.