Love Has Second Chances

I fucking hate Brits. I thought as I ran around the streets.

I had an hour before the show started, so I am currently running around like a chicken with its head chopped off.

Show Start

I hid myself well. No one recognized me as Johnny 3 Tears. I was happy. With an I. This works perfectly with my plan. I pretended to be into the music the MGK was slinging around, but in reality, I was a headbanger at heart.

Then I heard Jasmine's voice over the speakers. The ice cream tapped with honey sound was gone, but it held still a sweetness to it. But when she slurred about HU on stage, all the sweetness was gone. But I knew the old Jasmine was still inside there. Somewhere. The old high school girl was there, but other things have influenced the way her outer shell looked.

I stopped bobbing my head, and just stared. I can't believe how much she's changed. I kept seeing the butterfly on her left wrist, and I swear it looked like the one on my mask.

Show End

I have a backstage pass, and I was gonna fucking use it whether the bitches at the back liked it or not, damnit.

I made rush with the small crowd who also had backstage passes. I looked and looked, but I couldn't see her. I was only allowed thirty minutes backstage, and I gobbled it up like a starving hobo on the streets of L.A. I miss L.A. Too many fucking Brits in Britian, man.

I ran out of time before I could find Jasmine. Fortunately, they didn't leave until July 15, two days from now. I had time to run around like a head-chopped-off-chicken until then.

Too Little Too Late

FUCK SHIT DAMNIT! I COULDN'T FIND JASMINE FOR THE LIFE OF ME, AND NOW I HAVE TO HEAD TO FUCKING PARIS?! WITH A BUNCH OF SNAIL-EATING BITCHES!??! FUCK NO!