July 15, 3:30pm, Ringo and George's flat
I'd just gotten to George's place. The last day or so had been...hell, to say the least. I hated that George had gotten in that crash, I hated that I hadn't been able to see him since he'd been out of the hospital, I hated that I'd had to work...but here I was. Finally gotten a day that I didn't have to focus every available moment on the phone or at a shoot. Finally I was stretched out on George's couch with my head on his shoulder, and I was almost content...but I was still getting a weird vibe from him, and I didn't like it at all.
"D'you want me to get you anything?" I asked him. His arm was still bandaged up, of course, and it bothered me that Ringo was usually out during the day, doing whatever it was he did. It was only a sprained wrist and all, but even so...
"D'you want me to get you anything?" I asked him. His arm was still bandaged up, of course, and it bothered me that Ringo was usually out during the day, doing whatever it was he did. It was only a sprained wrist and all, but even so...