ceciliatan

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

The next day, despite my hangover, me and Bart staged an early-morning intervention. When Christian tried to get up and go back to that job, the stubborn bastard, I hid the keys to his van while he was in the shower and when he came out Bart told him he had a three o’clock gig. Chris didn’t even ask what it the gig was, just stared at us with dripping wet hair and still-bloodshot eyes. He grunted like some kind of shampoo commercial Bigfoot and went back to bed.

I went back to bed, too.