Line in a Lyric Book

I wake up like I do most afternoon's with a killer hangover. We're in the van and moving over the long black rode very quickly, Brian must be driving. I sit up, which proves to be a bad idea as it makes my head hurt even more, to see if I'm right, I am. Ray's sittin' shot gun, talking with Brain out tech shit. Mikey and Frankie are going head to head on some game boys and Matt's under my legs plugged into music. Bob, our Tech guy, is sitting in the middle with Mikey and Frankie, reading a comic that's probably mine.

"What time's it?" I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Almost three," Mikey answers, without looking up from the game.

Seconds later, Frankie throws up his arms in victory, claiming his superior owning-ness over Mikey.

"When's the show?" I ask.

"Uh, seven I think," says Ray.

I pull my legs under myself, and grab my back pack on the floor. I pull out a lyric book and try to do a little more writing, but nothing comes to me, so I doodle little My Chem members in the margins. And if I must say, we look pretty damn awesome.

"Dude, The Used guys are gonna be in town tomorrow," Bob says, "I wanna check in with the guys, I haven't seen 'em in forever," he adds.

"Man, that' d be awesome," Frank says as him and Mikes are setting up a rematch. "I miss Quinny Boi. Yes with an 'i' not a 'y'."

Last tour we did with The Used, Frank and Quinn started trying to get everyone to believe they were together and fucking around with each other. All the other bands thought they were. They'd lay all over each other and get caught in compromising positions, all that shit. It was pretty funny.

Bert and me got high all the time.

"Dude, we so should," I say. Everyone but Matt was all over that. Matt really doesn't like anyone.

"I think we can make the time. We don't have a show tomorrow," Brian says.

"Killer," Frankie says.

"We almost there?" I ask a little wile later.

"Like half an hour maybe," Brain says turning off the pike.