Milky's Way
: Spare Room :
It was good to be alone again. That two hour session had never felt so long. I lay on my bed and lit up a cigarette. I love this room, I really do. After I’d been here just over two weeks Gee suggested me moving in here for a while; he figured I’d be here for a while. I paid off the rest of y rent and moved out of my tiny apartment into here, becoming the second full timer, the other being Frazor. Guardian lived here too, but he had his own section away from the rest of us. Being a full time resident I felt like I had to pay my way some how, Guardian never asked for a penny but I felt bad living here for free so I decided I’d chip in at the end of each week.
Staying here at The Hall also got me a job, which I thought was near on impossible, part time at a bookstore in town owned by a friend of Guardians. So with the wages I get I give some to Gee, some of it gets saved, though not much as I’m terrible at this, and the rest goes on cigarettes and other rubbish I find myself buying.
Looking round my room I can see all my bits and bobs I’ve collected over the years, during and before my time at The Hall. My walls are covered top to bottom with posters and pictures of all shapes and sizes of bands I love, movies I love, people I love; if I love it, it’ll be on a wall somewhere.
The bed is on one side of the room; covered in simple black duvet and with a tiny spider-man teddy at the bottom. At the foot of the bed are my drawers, my TV resting in top of it, a pile of DVD’s leant against it.
My window is on the wall next to that, windowsill littered with pens, cd’s and all other rubbish. At the other side of the window stand my wardrobe, pretty much empty. Filling up the rest of the space is my desk, above which is a shelf with my stereo on it, mindlessly playing some radio station, and a small cabinet beside the door.
An old room mate of mine gave me the cabinet as a moving in present when we got an apartment together, I keep all my notebooks in there, mainly so I know where they are. Resting on the top I see what I’ve been looking for; my bottle of Jack D sat waiting for me.
I get up, pour myself a drink and lay back down on my bed. There in the corner, resting against the wardrobe, my pride and joy sits. My bass guitar. A thunderbird. Black. It’s a beautiful thing. I lay there staring at it, looking at the strings, the curves; wondering what happened to my dreams.
Sometimes I play when there’s not much else to do, but not like I used to. Frazor joins in sometimes too, he has an electric guitar and he comes over to my room every now and again, we sit there playing, smoking cigarettes and having the odd drink. We rarely talk, just enjoying the company I suppose.
As I lay there, bottle slowly emptying, thinking of Frazor and me I drift away into a deep sleep.
Staying here at The Hall also got me a job, which I thought was near on impossible, part time at a bookstore in town owned by a friend of Guardians. So with the wages I get I give some to Gee, some of it gets saved, though not much as I’m terrible at this, and the rest goes on cigarettes and other rubbish I find myself buying.
Looking round my room I can see all my bits and bobs I’ve collected over the years, during and before my time at The Hall. My walls are covered top to bottom with posters and pictures of all shapes and sizes of bands I love, movies I love, people I love; if I love it, it’ll be on a wall somewhere.
The bed is on one side of the room; covered in simple black duvet and with a tiny spider-man teddy at the bottom. At the foot of the bed are my drawers, my TV resting in top of it, a pile of DVD’s leant against it.
My window is on the wall next to that, windowsill littered with pens, cd’s and all other rubbish. At the other side of the window stand my wardrobe, pretty much empty. Filling up the rest of the space is my desk, above which is a shelf with my stereo on it, mindlessly playing some radio station, and a small cabinet beside the door.
An old room mate of mine gave me the cabinet as a moving in present when we got an apartment together, I keep all my notebooks in there, mainly so I know where they are. Resting on the top I see what I’ve been looking for; my bottle of Jack D sat waiting for me.
I get up, pour myself a drink and lay back down on my bed. There in the corner, resting against the wardrobe, my pride and joy sits. My bass guitar. A thunderbird. Black. It’s a beautiful thing. I lay there staring at it, looking at the strings, the curves; wondering what happened to my dreams.
Sometimes I play when there’s not much else to do, but not like I used to. Frazor joins in sometimes too, he has an electric guitar and he comes over to my room every now and again, we sit there playing, smoking cigarettes and having the odd drink. We rarely talk, just enjoying the company I suppose.
As I lay there, bottle slowly emptying, thinking of Frazor and me I drift away into a deep sleep.