All Right Now
There were a few hours left before his set at the Willows Room, so what better way to prepare than to play music?
Since he'd sliced his hand on a bottle of rum after an ultimately ironic decision to stop drinking himself into an even earlier grave, Roger had been playing less and less. He'd discovered Dean's penchant for medicine, which was great, but he was living with a nurse, now, which was less great. He suspected Dean often suppressed the urge to come in and check on him, tell him to stop jumping on the bed, remind him to take his pills. Anyway, he was proud of Dean for making a life for himself that more resembled the one he wanted. And in typical Roger-fashion, he refused to follow his own advice.
Now that his hand had healed (and he stared at the scar just to make sure), he felt the need to make up for lost time. He flexed the hand a few times before sitting down outside his hut addition, shirtless and in shredded jeans. The sun hit him just right and he pulled down his shades like rockstars did. The air was perfect, and Roger was in a good mood.
Just as long as he didn't think about what a tool he'd been with Mamet.
Some Free was a good fix for that.
He flicked on his solar amp and began to tune his electric, watching the foot traffic, knees bent. The island was his home, and he was unafraid to say so.
If only he could stop doing stupid shit.
Since he'd sliced his hand on a bottle of rum after an ultimately ironic decision to stop drinking himself into an even earlier grave, Roger had been playing less and less. He'd discovered Dean's penchant for medicine, which was great, but he was living with a nurse, now, which was less great. He suspected Dean often suppressed the urge to come in and check on him, tell him to stop jumping on the bed, remind him to take his pills. Anyway, he was proud of Dean for making a life for himself that more resembled the one he wanted. And in typical Roger-fashion, he refused to follow his own advice.
Now that his hand had healed (and he stared at the scar just to make sure), he felt the need to make up for lost time. He flexed the hand a few times before sitting down outside his hut addition, shirtless and in shredded jeans. The sun hit him just right and he pulled down his shades like rockstars did. The air was perfect, and Roger was in a good mood.
Just as long as he didn't think about what a tool he'd been with Mamet.
Some Free was a good fix for that.
He flicked on his solar amp and began to tune his electric, watching the foot traffic, knees bent. The island was his home, and he was unafraid to say so.
If only he could stop doing stupid shit.