welcome to the rockhouse
Ray's Rockhouse, that's my joint
House of soul, git my point
We don't care what's your views
Come in here, lose yo' blues
When trouble comes a-knockin'
Everything looks better while yer rockin'
You don't notice trouble while yer rockin'
--"Ray's Rockhouse", Manhattan Transfer
After seeing Karen's hut - which is chill, don't get me wrong, but it's small - and Nick's room at the compound, I got to thinking. If I'm gonna be stuck here for as long as I live, 'cos I'm pretty sure I'm dead back in Vegas, I oughtta have more than a place to crash, y'know?
I need a place to live.
So I thought it over, and got to talking with the building crew. It didn't take much convincing at all to get them on my wavelength. I didn't mind it'd take a little longer than usual; they were up for the challenge of it. A few extra smiles in the right direction, a few winks and maybe a couple a promises to throw a party or three, and I got myself a home.
It ain't much, y'know, but it's mine. In some ways, it's nicer than my place in Vegas. Yeah, the interior's small, but it's bigger than standard by half again. And I suaved the crew into an extra window for air flow and a wraparound patio that's got stairs at the front and the back.
Yesterday was move-in day, which took about an hour, since I got all of nothing but some toiletries, towels and linens, a pillow, clothes, a cup, an armful of crime novels and a bunch of palm fronds I bundled together to make a mattress. But I seriously gotta talk to someone about building a bed, dresser and couches, 'cos, man, this sleeping on the floor and having no furniture is so not on.
It's getting on to midafternoon when I get back from my run. I'm damp from taking a swim to wash off, and it's hot. And it's not a dry heat, you hear what I'm saying? I'm sweating - clean sweat, but sweating - and wishing for a genie with a fan and an ice cold drink. Y'know, she could be wearing one of those gauzy little numbers, see-through... What? It's LOST island, a'ight?
No genie, and I need at least an hour before I wanna head over to the compound. So if I'm going native, I figure I might as well go native, and strip down to my skin. Before that, I prop the door open with a rock to let in what breeze there is.
I'm kicking it on my impromptu mat, bored out of my head with the mystery I solved three pages into the thing, when someone comes walking in. No knocking, no yo, Warrick, what's up man?, not even a howdy, neighbor!.
[Timed to mid-afternoon. Find Warrick nekkid in his hut reading. Your call if he's face up or face down when you find him. ST/LT/all kinds of tags welcome through the weekend. New friends, old friends, anybody at all. If your pup would knock, that's fine, too. I'm skipping out for a bit but I wanted to get this posted Tags when I return.]
House of soul, git my point
We don't care what's your views
Come in here, lose yo' blues
When trouble comes a-knockin'
Everything looks better while yer rockin'
You don't notice trouble while yer rockin'
--"Ray's Rockhouse", Manhattan Transfer
After seeing Karen's hut - which is chill, don't get me wrong, but it's small - and Nick's room at the compound, I got to thinking. If I'm gonna be stuck here for as long as I live, 'cos I'm pretty sure I'm dead back in Vegas, I oughtta have more than a place to crash, y'know?
I need a place to live.
So I thought it over, and got to talking with the building crew. It didn't take much convincing at all to get them on my wavelength. I didn't mind it'd take a little longer than usual; they were up for the challenge of it. A few extra smiles in the right direction, a few winks and maybe a couple a promises to throw a party or three, and I got myself a home.
It ain't much, y'know, but it's mine. In some ways, it's nicer than my place in Vegas. Yeah, the interior's small, but it's bigger than standard by half again. And I suaved the crew into an extra window for air flow and a wraparound patio that's got stairs at the front and the back.
Yesterday was move-in day, which took about an hour, since I got all of nothing but some toiletries, towels and linens, a pillow, clothes, a cup, an armful of crime novels and a bunch of palm fronds I bundled together to make a mattress. But I seriously gotta talk to someone about building a bed, dresser and couches, 'cos, man, this sleeping on the floor and having no furniture is so not on.
It's getting on to midafternoon when I get back from my run. I'm damp from taking a swim to wash off, and it's hot. And it's not a dry heat, you hear what I'm saying? I'm sweating - clean sweat, but sweating - and wishing for a genie with a fan and an ice cold drink. Y'know, she could be wearing one of those gauzy little numbers, see-through... What? It's LOST island, a'ight?
No genie, and I need at least an hour before I wanna head over to the compound. So if I'm going native, I figure I might as well go native, and strip down to my skin. Before that, I prop the door open with a rock to let in what breeze there is.
I'm kicking it on my impromptu mat, bored out of my head with the mystery I solved three pages into the thing, when someone comes walking in. No knocking, no yo, Warrick, what's up man?, not even a howdy, neighbor!.
[Timed to mid-afternoon. Find Warrick nekkid in his hut reading. Your call if he's face up or face down when you find him. ST/LT/all kinds of tags welcome through the weekend. New friends, old friends, anybody at all. If your pup would knock, that's fine, too. I'm skipping out for a bit but I wanted to get this posted Tags when I return.]