Patrick and Roger
The Winchester was one of those establishments that Patrick looked out of place in, but after five minutes could make himself at home with just about anyone there. He hadn't been back in quite some time, so he was glad it hadn't changed at all. Same wood, same tables, same sense of rat-tag gentility. Just like the owner, Patrick suspected.
He slid up to the counter, caught the bartender's eye and ordered himself a tall beer, and let himself relax back in the chair. He had never been much of a drinker, but it had been a long week and all he really wanted was to be around familiar people who felt no need to either attack his mental defenses or ease him into mental health. He appreciated most of it, but right now? Friendly, easy conversation would be nice.
He wondered if Roger was around ...
Lifting his head, as he slipped off his suit jacket, he scanned the room for the blonde guitarist. His best friend Dean owned this particular propert, so Roger could be found here or at the Catscratch Club. Patrick thought about wandering over there, if he didn't find his friend.
He slid up to the counter, caught the bartender's eye and ordered himself a tall beer, and let himself relax back in the chair. He had never been much of a drinker, but it had been a long week and all he really wanted was to be around familiar people who felt no need to either attack his mental defenses or ease him into mental health. He appreciated most of it, but right now? Friendly, easy conversation would be nice.
He wondered if Roger was around ...
Lifting his head, as he slipped off his suit jacket, he scanned the room for the blonde guitarist. His best friend Dean owned this particular propert, so Roger could be found here or at the Catscratch Club. Patrick thought about wandering over there, if he didn't find his friend.