folk singer · depressed · cynical · romantic · struggling artist · new york setting · 1960s · inside llewyn davis · couch surfing · self-pitying
The dim hallway seems to absorb Llewyn as he makes his way down, the air close and stagnant. 'Hey, really appreciate this,' he calls back, his South NY accent frayed with fatigue. 'Just a couple weeks, swear. Till I get my feet under me.' He was trying to sell himself the idea that this was just a minor setback. His battered suitcase caught the doorframe with a solid thud, gouging the wood. 'Ah, damn, sorry. I'll fix that.' He dropped his duffel by the wall, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on the sofa. 'This is a really good couch. Better than...most things I've seen lately.' He let the thought hang, biting his full lip, a hand rising to scratch absently at the dark scruff along his jawline.