Status: New
Here Goes
One Song to Leave Behind
Roger sat in his usual seat on the couch, strumming his guitar.
Mark obnoxiously yelled out, "November 23rd, 1988, 8:30 pm Eastern Standard time. Roger Davis, recently retired, tries to right a song- with no luck."
"Screw off, Mark," Roger snapped, pushing the camera out of his face.
"Stick to the script, rock star," Mark said, as he started to turn the crank for his camera to get it going again.
"Well, while I do that, how 'bout you go stick that camera up your--" Roger was cut off by the phone ringing.
"Speeeeeak," the answering machine said.
"Yo, throw down the keys, man, it's Collins!"
"Collins?" Mark said, surprised. He peered out the window, and sure enough, Tom was there by the telephone, grinning. Roger tossed down the keys, and Collins easily caught them. In a few minutes, he was upstairs saying hello to the two lightskinned blonds.
"What brings you here, Tom?" Mark asked. "I thought you were working at that college."
"Got fired," Tom replied sadly.
"What, why?" Roger asked.
Tom sighed. "Apparently, they don't hire gays."
"What? This is the third time this has happened, man!" Roger exclaimed. "They can't keep doing this! It just isn't right."
"Well, what can ya do about it?" Collins said, shrugging.
"Let's go down to the Catscratch club, that oughta cheer you up," Mark said, patting his back.
"Um, one problem, Mark," Collins said.
"What?"
Collins facepalmed. "I'm gay! I don't LIKE women."
"...Oh yeah," Mark said stupidly. "Well, you should come anyway. Maybe we can hit a bar or something."
The three men went out on their way to the club, which was right around the corner, conveniently.
They sat down at a table by the stage, as the dancers came out.
Mark was happily watching the girls with Roger as Collins sat, bored out of his mind, chugging beers.
Out on stage walked a slim brunette. Mark, for some reason, couldn't stop looking at her. Her beauty was too much to tale his eyes off of, and only when Roger gave in to Collins' whining about wanting to leave did he unglue his eyes to leave.
Mark obnoxiously yelled out, "November 23rd, 1988, 8:30 pm Eastern Standard time. Roger Davis, recently retired, tries to right a song- with no luck."
"Screw off, Mark," Roger snapped, pushing the camera out of his face.
"Stick to the script, rock star," Mark said, as he started to turn the crank for his camera to get it going again.
"Well, while I do that, how 'bout you go stick that camera up your--" Roger was cut off by the phone ringing.
"Speeeeeak," the answering machine said.
"Yo, throw down the keys, man, it's Collins!"
"Collins?" Mark said, surprised. He peered out the window, and sure enough, Tom was there by the telephone, grinning. Roger tossed down the keys, and Collins easily caught them. In a few minutes, he was upstairs saying hello to the two lightskinned blonds.
"What brings you here, Tom?" Mark asked. "I thought you were working at that college."
"Got fired," Tom replied sadly.
"What, why?" Roger asked.
Tom sighed. "Apparently, they don't hire gays."
"What? This is the third time this has happened, man!" Roger exclaimed. "They can't keep doing this! It just isn't right."
"Well, what can ya do about it?" Collins said, shrugging.
"Let's go down to the Catscratch club, that oughta cheer you up," Mark said, patting his back.
"Um, one problem, Mark," Collins said.
"What?"
Collins facepalmed. "I'm gay! I don't LIKE women."
"...Oh yeah," Mark said stupidly. "Well, you should come anyway. Maybe we can hit a bar or something."
The three men went out on their way to the club, which was right around the corner, conveniently.
They sat down at a table by the stage, as the dancers came out.
Mark was happily watching the girls with Roger as Collins sat, bored out of his mind, chugging beers.
Out on stage walked a slim brunette. Mark, for some reason, couldn't stop looking at her. Her beauty was too much to tale his eyes off of, and only when Roger gave in to Collins' whining about wanting to leave did he unglue his eyes to leave.