ceciliatan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

It didn’t, of course. Make sense, that is. The world still made no sense when I woke up later but at least I had less of a hangover.

I managed to get myself showered and make myself presentable before going downstairs to find out who was there. Courtney was playing hostess to a bunch of folks sitting around in the living room. Chris was in the kitchen brewing more coffee. I waved to the various people I didn’t recognize and moved toward caffeine.

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

If I were prone to cliche I’d say the next day dawned gray and gloomy. But come on. It was another sunny, mid-sixties day exactly like the day before, just like most of the days in November in Los Angeles except when it was in the eighties.

I want to go home, I thought, from my cocoon, staring at the high ceiling in the studio. When I thought of home, I thought of my room in Allston.

“Daron, you in here?” Remo.