Beta:
Lisa, MSWord
It’s just pure fun. For once, no angst from me. GASP
Summary:
"Repeatedly, over and over again to a pulsating beat and smutty lyrics about urging someone to come all over you? While looking at Nick? Yeah…you tell yourself that. Besides, I’m leaving after Shopping For Blood, I have to go and take care of some things." I think he’s still talking, but I’m not listening because I didn’t realize that what me and Nick do…well, um, it’s rather….sexual. Why hasn’t anyone ever told me that?
Nick had been acting weird lately.
However, when Nick said that he was going to leave the band, I thought he was joking. Everyone paused from eating at the table, spoon halfway to Bob's mouth and Paul, who was nibbling on a piece of bread, dropped it. I gave out a hearty laugh, rolling my eyes and began to sip the tea I was drinking before he made the declaration. But he wasn't smiling, in fact, he was already getting up fully from the table and placing his dish into the sink. Why? So many questions ran through my mind, but every time a thought came up, ‘Why’ was the beginning of it. Why did he want to leave? Why, was it something that I did? Why was Paul eating like that? Bob blinked at me once he left the dining room of the hotel we were residing in, placing his spoon down on the end of his plate.
"Why're looking at me like that?" I ask, sliding out of my seat while Paul nibbles around the bread in a circular pattern. As soon as I'm about to question him of his eating habit Bob brings my attention back to him by flicking a pea at my head with his spoon. " Ow!" I jump a little bit backwards, rubbing my head. Hey, peas can pack a punch you know, especially when Bob throws them. It's like he's been lifting weights or something when we weren't looking at him; I'm afraid to fight him, he might break my arse when throwing me around like a rag doll.
"Well, don't stand there, go after him!" He huffs out and Paul finally puts down that damn piece of bread, " I mean, do you want him to leave the band?"
"Silly, silly Robert." I chide, shaking my head back and forth. Paul goes in for round two with the bread basket and I continue, " Nick won't leave the band, he has no reason to." And that is true, Nick doesn't have any reason to. The pay is good, the shows are great, and who the hell would want to give up mind blowing guitar sex on a regular basis with me? He wasn't pregnant, that's impossible right? And besides, Paul slipped a pill in his drink a couple on months back, just in case. See, Nick has a perfectly fine life here on the road with me, Bob and Paul. So he's probably just joking. Why? Because Nick always jokes. This was just another joke. However, Robert doesn't believe me and I duck as another pea is flung past me. " Cut it out!"
"Go and talk to him before I throw my shoe at you." He mumbles and my god, why does Paul eat like that? "I thought that the younger you are, the more naive you were, not the other way around." His cheeks are all red and rosy now, and before I can say something cute a thick, black figure is hurled at my head. As I turn to run away it hits me in my back and a stumble, quickening my pace up the steps; however, not fast enough, a piece of bread also hits my head. Paul has good aim, Christ, I'll have to watch out for him now as well.
As I make my way up the steps everything seems funny to me, the cheep peeling wall paper seems funny, and the little kid crying on the steps seems funny as well. I half expect Nick to jump out from around the corner, yelling in that slightly German-Scottish-British...- and what, a little pinch of Chinese?- , voice of his, and tackling me to the floor. It wouldn't be the first time. But he wasn't. After peeking around the corner I come out fully -understatement of the year- and walk down the hall to where our hotel rooms were at. We normally rotated, and this time Nick was sharing a room with me while Bob and Paul shared one. Bob, normally because in Japan the girls went crazy for him, and Paul, because he did the most adorable chibi pictures of Bob being chased by them. Meanwhile, me and Nick normally talked about shoes, "Does my arse look big in these jeans?" - " They look big in everything you wear, love." type conversations and why fan girls keep mentioning to us how highly homoerotic we are together when we play, or just in general. It's amusing, you know, listening to people tell you the same thing every day; perfect example : when that prostitute was 'harassing' me outside of the apartment. Do you know how many times people have relayed that back to me, in different versions no less? Maybe I should make it into a song, like, a second Jacqueline or something. ' Jacqueline, was 36, smacking up her client when I, peered above a pair of closed blind shades....' or something like that. The main point here is that she could've probably whopped me good as well, and then charged me afterwards when she was done. I need to start bulking up.
When I reach the door the knob turns and for a second, I remember what my fortune cookie said last week when we went to this restaurant about me 'obtaining magical and astounding powers...' or something along those lines, but I see a wisp of hair poke through and, unless I have super German conjuring powers -which I don't, but me and Nick do have these cute matching 25 cent rings and when we put them together we say 'Vodka Stealing Powers, Unite!" like the wonder twins. Shut up, it's fun for us-, Nick comes all the way through. I frown at the bags in his hands and raise any eyebrow, " Are they coming up the fire escape again? I can get Glenn to fix that, you know."
"No...no one is there, it's...it's empty." He sighs and I blink at him slowly," So what are the bags for?"
"Because I'm leaving." He says it so dully, and I lean in closely, " Are you pregnant?"
His eyes grow real wide and I start to panic, biting my lips because I didn't know that he...fuck. " Shite...Nick...wow, I'm too young to be a daddy...."
"Alex..."
"... I mean, at the ripe age of 17..."
" 33..."
"...29...."
".....33...."
"....29 years old, I thought Paul gave you the pill, damnit. I'm going to kick his arse-" I stop when Nick takes a hold of my shoulders and shakes me a little bit, urging me to be silent. It's hard to concentrate, however, because now I know that I'm going to have to be the one to hold his hand when he delivers, and, no surprise here, Nick is pretty strong. Wanna know the real reason I asked him did he play drums when we were fighting over the now nostalgic bottle of vodka? It was because he was hitting me so hard!.
"Alex, I'm not...how can I even get pre--... wait, what pills?" Nick asked, confused now and lets go of me. While he talks I look at the bags in his hands and lean forwards to take them when he snatches his hand away, so I pout a little bit. " Alex, stop."
"But Nicky..." I murmur now, tugging on the bags again in his arms," S'not funny anymore, stop."
"I wasn't joking." He looks really defeated and tired now, as if he hasn't slept in a long time, and suddenly I realize maybe that's the answers; Nick's just tired. And I can't blame him, none of us had gotten sleep lately, not with the constant practices at all. I think it was driving all of us a little mad; Paul keeps playing Shopping For Blood with his chop sticks and Bob keeps fingering and writing the notes to Love And Destroy inside of his rice ball, -How, I don't know-, I keep humming Lynsey Wells in my sleep, and well, Nick won't stop singing Tell Her Tonight. Maybe it's just the paranoia getting to us, if we stop writing songs we'll get lazy and end up like Oasis. And when we get lazy we'll stop hanging out, and if we stop hanging out we'll start drifting apart. And if we start drifting apart then we'll grow to hate each other, and I could never do that. I could never hate Bob and his little cherub complexion, or Paul and his oddly attractive teeth, or Nick's oddly huge arse.
But somehow, the thought of Nick leaving is very unsettling and I tug one more time for good measure before letting go and sighing, "I’ll be back." He says quietly, and I nod.
We stare at each other in the darkness of the room before he nods at me and I give him a quick hug. I sigh as I let go and watch him walk down the hallway. However, half way down I finally blurt out, " Wait, how are you getting home? We’re in Japan." I don’t think Nick thought about that and he pauses in mid-step before turning back around and looking at me, " I can’t take the bus?"
-------------------
After Nick left things became quiet inside of the tour bus. We left Japan and were now in the States, doing a show with Death Cab For Cutie, which I had trouble saying at first because I still have no fucking clue what the name means. Regardless, as we do a sound check everything seems a little too mundane. First off, I have no one to have guitar foreplay with. Do you know how depressing that is, to be celibate with a guitar? No more grinding to Michael, no more dropping down to the floor in a sweaty haze and no more watching Nick sway his arse at the crowd. Now I had to find someone else to be with. It couldn’t be Paul, he told me if I came near him he would bite me, and last time he did that I bled for a week. I’m not going over to Bob because I’m afraid he might hit me.
So that only leaves me with one option…
"Andy…" I smile cheerfully at him and in the background I hear Paul cough. I like talking to Andy, he’s innocent, I mean….um, nice enough. Besides, he’s always around Paul all the time -Drum sex…oh, how naughty…- so it’s not like I get to single him ou- talk to him often. As he slithers over me, striped red and black shirt and slightly afraid eyes, I sling an around his shoulder and smile. "You know how to play guitar, right…?"
He slides away from me slightly, but I just smile and slip closer. "Yeah…why…?"
"Why don’t you hop off the keyboard over there and play the guitar with me-"
"Oh no, I am not having sex with you!" He says this loudly and the rest of the crew looks at us , not in shock, it’s not the first time someone told me that on stage, before continuing to work again. I pout sadly and play with the end of my earpiece, " Comes on…." I purr, " You know you want to."
"No, I do not. You are Nick’s property, and I’m not getting mixed up in your sexual ambiguity-"
"It’s just a pair of guitars harmlessly being pushed together-"
"Repeatedly, over and over again to a pulsating beat and smutty lyrics about urging someone to come all over you? While looking at Nick? Yeah…you tell yourself that. Besides, I’m leaving after Shopping For Blood, I have to go and take care of some things." I think he’s still talking, but I’m not listening because I didn’t realize that what me and Nick do…well, um, it’s rather….sexual. Why hasn’t anyone ever told me that?
….why fan girls keep mentioning to us how highly homoerotic we are together when we play…
Wait, maybe if I think I may remember someone mentioning it to me…maybe, I dunno. Something along the lines of "Alex, don’t touch him there." or " Alex, don’t do that in public" or "Alex, bloody hell, not at the dinner table" and "Alex, that’s not a guitar pick in your hand…" or something. And that was last week. But what’s important is that I miss Nick and it’s going to be very, very lonely tonight on stage.
----------------------
As the chants grow louder from behind the curtain I feel nervous and suddenly want to call the whole thing off. I was being foolish, how could we pull off a concert without Nick? It was like being buggered silly without snogging afterwards, or Bob not being chased by overly obsessive fans or Paul not nibbling on something. It just didn’t feel right. So when the curtains open up and Paul starts banging his drum sticks together I get a little teary eyed, reach for the bottle of wine at my feet, take swig and sigh.
Show time.
The beginning of the show is okay, I get a couple of glasses in me and go through the songs quickly. Bob actually talks, which is a shock to the audience as he laughs nervously and starts talking to them more than I normally would. We let a few kids dance on stage, even though it annoyed the hell out of me when one of them tripped over my chord and spilt my glass of wine. And even when we played Shopping For Blood, I still looked happy. I wasn’t happy, but seeing Paul and Andy toss sticks back and forth with each other like a juggling act while still playing did make me smile a little bit.
But it wasn’t the same; I’m sure the crowd felt it as well.
And then Michael came. I knew it was inevitable, but damn, if I didn’t try to forget it. The crowd grew silent and looked at me, a sea of eyes, almost accusing because Nick wasn’t there. And what was I to do? I was at a loss until I thought about my fortune cookie again. Me ‘obtaining magical and astounding powers…" and then it hit me, this was what they were talking about.
So I bent down, took another swig of wine, placed my fingers onto the guitar and played. I made up new lyrics, raunchy slurs that kept the crowd swooning and gasping. Most pits started to form, boys and girls rowdily prancing around to the highly contagious beat, crashing into each other. Bob moved around slightly, and I smiled at his effort, as did Paul, who improved a slightly quicker beat to keep up with me. But that line was coming up and I had no one to sing it to, no blue eyes to swim in, no one to gasp the blatant innuendo to. So I did what I knew was right.
I jumped into the crowd.
Well, actually, I fought through it. Somehow, while still managing to play, I fought through that crowd and gasped out those lyrics, that line, that drove the crowd over the edge. I closed my eyes, pretending that they all were Nick, and let them engulf me whole. For a few seconds everything seemed blank, silence, a deep one, that filled my ears like a thick version of feedback from the guitar amp, and I opened them to see Nick on stage, legs spread slightly, playing intently and giving me that look.
That look.
It was like all the feeling was pushed back into me, all the passion, all the power that I feel when I play at concerts. As the guards helped me back onto the stage and my guitar brushed up against the barricade I felt so elated I couldn’t help it, I skipped up to Nick quickly, did my stance, looked him dead in the eyes, got my fingers positioned and played as hard as I could.
Nick looked refreshed almost, bouncing around, doing kicks and high jumps with me, teasing the crowd and even climbing onto Paul’s drum kit and shaking his arse in Paul’s face. Of course, Paul did not like this, and poked him with the drum stick; nor did Bob like it when Nick put his head on his shoulder and played, doing a little shuffle with his feet. But none of that mattered, Nick was back, he was mines to dance with on stage again and talk to on those nights when I just couldn’t get to sleep.
The problem now was, what did that mean?
It’s just pure fun. For once, no angst from me. GASP
Summary:
"Repeatedly, over and over again to a pulsating beat and smutty lyrics about urging someone to come all over you? While looking at Nick? Yeah…you tell yourself that. Besides, I’m leaving after Shopping For Blood, I have to go and take care of some things." I think he’s still talking, but I’m not listening because I didn’t realize that what me and Nick do…well, um, it’s rather….sexual. Why hasn’t anyone ever told me that?
Nick had been acting weird lately.
However, when Nick said that he was going to leave the band, I thought he was joking. Everyone paused from eating at the table, spoon halfway to Bob's mouth and Paul, who was nibbling on a piece of bread, dropped it. I gave out a hearty laugh, rolling my eyes and began to sip the tea I was drinking before he made the declaration. But he wasn't smiling, in fact, he was already getting up fully from the table and placing his dish into the sink. Why? So many questions ran through my mind, but every time a thought came up, ‘Why’ was the beginning of it. Why did he want to leave? Why, was it something that I did? Why was Paul eating like that? Bob blinked at me once he left the dining room of the hotel we were residing in, placing his spoon down on the end of his plate.
"Why're looking at me like that?" I ask, sliding out of my seat while Paul nibbles around the bread in a circular pattern. As soon as I'm about to question him of his eating habit Bob brings my attention back to him by flicking a pea at my head with his spoon. " Ow!" I jump a little bit backwards, rubbing my head. Hey, peas can pack a punch you know, especially when Bob throws them. It's like he's been lifting weights or something when we weren't looking at him; I'm afraid to fight him, he might break my arse when throwing me around like a rag doll.
"Well, don't stand there, go after him!" He huffs out and Paul finally puts down that damn piece of bread, " I mean, do you want him to leave the band?"
"Silly, silly Robert." I chide, shaking my head back and forth. Paul goes in for round two with the bread basket and I continue, " Nick won't leave the band, he has no reason to." And that is true, Nick doesn't have any reason to. The pay is good, the shows are great, and who the hell would want to give up mind blowing guitar sex on a regular basis with me? He wasn't pregnant, that's impossible right? And besides, Paul slipped a pill in his drink a couple on months back, just in case. See, Nick has a perfectly fine life here on the road with me, Bob and Paul. So he's probably just joking. Why? Because Nick always jokes. This was just another joke. However, Robert doesn't believe me and I duck as another pea is flung past me. " Cut it out!"
"Go and talk to him before I throw my shoe at you." He mumbles and my god, why does Paul eat like that? "I thought that the younger you are, the more naive you were, not the other way around." His cheeks are all red and rosy now, and before I can say something cute a thick, black figure is hurled at my head. As I turn to run away it hits me in my back and a stumble, quickening my pace up the steps; however, not fast enough, a piece of bread also hits my head. Paul has good aim, Christ, I'll have to watch out for him now as well.
As I make my way up the steps everything seems funny to me, the cheep peeling wall paper seems funny, and the little kid crying on the steps seems funny as well. I half expect Nick to jump out from around the corner, yelling in that slightly German-Scottish-British...- and what, a little pinch of Chinese?- , voice of his, and tackling me to the floor. It wouldn't be the first time. But he wasn't. After peeking around the corner I come out fully -understatement of the year- and walk down the hall to where our hotel rooms were at. We normally rotated, and this time Nick was sharing a room with me while Bob and Paul shared one. Bob, normally because in Japan the girls went crazy for him, and Paul, because he did the most adorable chibi pictures of Bob being chased by them. Meanwhile, me and Nick normally talked about shoes, "Does my arse look big in these jeans?" - " They look big in everything you wear, love." type conversations and why fan girls keep mentioning to us how highly homoerotic we are together when we play, or just in general. It's amusing, you know, listening to people tell you the same thing every day; perfect example : when that prostitute was 'harassing' me outside of the apartment. Do you know how many times people have relayed that back to me, in different versions no less? Maybe I should make it into a song, like, a second Jacqueline or something. ' Jacqueline, was 36, smacking up her client when I, peered above a pair of closed blind shades....' or something like that. The main point here is that she could've probably whopped me good as well, and then charged me afterwards when she was done. I need to start bulking up.
When I reach the door the knob turns and for a second, I remember what my fortune cookie said last week when we went to this restaurant about me 'obtaining magical and astounding powers...' or something along those lines, but I see a wisp of hair poke through and, unless I have super German conjuring powers -which I don't, but me and Nick do have these cute matching 25 cent rings and when we put them together we say 'Vodka Stealing Powers, Unite!" like the wonder twins. Shut up, it's fun for us-, Nick comes all the way through. I frown at the bags in his hands and raise any eyebrow, " Are they coming up the fire escape again? I can get Glenn to fix that, you know."
"No...no one is there, it's...it's empty." He sighs and I blink at him slowly," So what are the bags for?"
"Because I'm leaving." He says it so dully, and I lean in closely, " Are you pregnant?"
His eyes grow real wide and I start to panic, biting my lips because I didn't know that he...fuck. " Shite...Nick...wow, I'm too young to be a daddy...."
"Alex..."
"... I mean, at the ripe age of 17..."
" 33..."
"...29...."
".....33...."
"....29 years old, I thought Paul gave you the pill, damnit. I'm going to kick his arse-" I stop when Nick takes a hold of my shoulders and shakes me a little bit, urging me to be silent. It's hard to concentrate, however, because now I know that I'm going to have to be the one to hold his hand when he delivers, and, no surprise here, Nick is pretty strong. Wanna know the real reason I asked him did he play drums when we were fighting over the now nostalgic bottle of vodka? It was because he was hitting me so hard!.
"Alex, I'm not...how can I even get pre--... wait, what pills?" Nick asked, confused now and lets go of me. While he talks I look at the bags in his hands and lean forwards to take them when he snatches his hand away, so I pout a little bit. " Alex, stop."
"But Nicky..." I murmur now, tugging on the bags again in his arms," S'not funny anymore, stop."
"I wasn't joking." He looks really defeated and tired now, as if he hasn't slept in a long time, and suddenly I realize maybe that's the answers; Nick's just tired. And I can't blame him, none of us had gotten sleep lately, not with the constant practices at all. I think it was driving all of us a little mad; Paul keeps playing Shopping For Blood with his chop sticks and Bob keeps fingering and writing the notes to Love And Destroy inside of his rice ball, -How, I don't know-, I keep humming Lynsey Wells in my sleep, and well, Nick won't stop singing Tell Her Tonight. Maybe it's just the paranoia getting to us, if we stop writing songs we'll get lazy and end up like Oasis. And when we get lazy we'll stop hanging out, and if we stop hanging out we'll start drifting apart. And if we start drifting apart then we'll grow to hate each other, and I could never do that. I could never hate Bob and his little cherub complexion, or Paul and his oddly attractive teeth, or Nick's oddly huge arse.
But somehow, the thought of Nick leaving is very unsettling and I tug one more time for good measure before letting go and sighing, "I’ll be back." He says quietly, and I nod.
We stare at each other in the darkness of the room before he nods at me and I give him a quick hug. I sigh as I let go and watch him walk down the hallway. However, half way down I finally blurt out, " Wait, how are you getting home? We’re in Japan." I don’t think Nick thought about that and he pauses in mid-step before turning back around and looking at me, " I can’t take the bus?"
-------------------
After Nick left things became quiet inside of the tour bus. We left Japan and were now in the States, doing a show with Death Cab For Cutie, which I had trouble saying at first because I still have no fucking clue what the name means. Regardless, as we do a sound check everything seems a little too mundane. First off, I have no one to have guitar foreplay with. Do you know how depressing that is, to be celibate with a guitar? No more grinding to Michael, no more dropping down to the floor in a sweaty haze and no more watching Nick sway his arse at the crowd. Now I had to find someone else to be with. It couldn’t be Paul, he told me if I came near him he would bite me, and last time he did that I bled for a week. I’m not going over to Bob because I’m afraid he might hit me.
So that only leaves me with one option…
"Andy…" I smile cheerfully at him and in the background I hear Paul cough. I like talking to Andy, he’s innocent, I mean….um, nice enough. Besides, he’s always around Paul all the time -Drum sex…oh, how naughty…- so it’s not like I get to single him ou- talk to him often. As he slithers over me, striped red and black shirt and slightly afraid eyes, I sling an around his shoulder and smile. "You know how to play guitar, right…?"
He slides away from me slightly, but I just smile and slip closer. "Yeah…why…?"
"Why don’t you hop off the keyboard over there and play the guitar with me-"
"Oh no, I am not having sex with you!" He says this loudly and the rest of the crew looks at us , not in shock, it’s not the first time someone told me that on stage, before continuing to work again. I pout sadly and play with the end of my earpiece, " Comes on…." I purr, " You know you want to."
"No, I do not. You are Nick’s property, and I’m not getting mixed up in your sexual ambiguity-"
"It’s just a pair of guitars harmlessly being pushed together-"
"Repeatedly, over and over again to a pulsating beat and smutty lyrics about urging someone to come all over you? While looking at Nick? Yeah…you tell yourself that. Besides, I’m leaving after Shopping For Blood, I have to go and take care of some things." I think he’s still talking, but I’m not listening because I didn’t realize that what me and Nick do…well, um, it’s rather….sexual. Why hasn’t anyone ever told me that?
….why fan girls keep mentioning to us how highly homoerotic we are together when we play…
Wait, maybe if I think I may remember someone mentioning it to me…maybe, I dunno. Something along the lines of "Alex, don’t touch him there." or " Alex, don’t do that in public" or "Alex, bloody hell, not at the dinner table" and "Alex, that’s not a guitar pick in your hand…" or something. And that was last week. But what’s important is that I miss Nick and it’s going to be very, very lonely tonight on stage.
----------------------
As the chants grow louder from behind the curtain I feel nervous and suddenly want to call the whole thing off. I was being foolish, how could we pull off a concert without Nick? It was like being buggered silly without snogging afterwards, or Bob not being chased by overly obsessive fans or Paul not nibbling on something. It just didn’t feel right. So when the curtains open up and Paul starts banging his drum sticks together I get a little teary eyed, reach for the bottle of wine at my feet, take swig and sigh.
Show time.
The beginning of the show is okay, I get a couple of glasses in me and go through the songs quickly. Bob actually talks, which is a shock to the audience as he laughs nervously and starts talking to them more than I normally would. We let a few kids dance on stage, even though it annoyed the hell out of me when one of them tripped over my chord and spilt my glass of wine. And even when we played Shopping For Blood, I still looked happy. I wasn’t happy, but seeing Paul and Andy toss sticks back and forth with each other like a juggling act while still playing did make me smile a little bit.
But it wasn’t the same; I’m sure the crowd felt it as well.
And then Michael came. I knew it was inevitable, but damn, if I didn’t try to forget it. The crowd grew silent and looked at me, a sea of eyes, almost accusing because Nick wasn’t there. And what was I to do? I was at a loss until I thought about my fortune cookie again. Me ‘obtaining magical and astounding powers…" and then it hit me, this was what they were talking about.
So I bent down, took another swig of wine, placed my fingers onto the guitar and played. I made up new lyrics, raunchy slurs that kept the crowd swooning and gasping. Most pits started to form, boys and girls rowdily prancing around to the highly contagious beat, crashing into each other. Bob moved around slightly, and I smiled at his effort, as did Paul, who improved a slightly quicker beat to keep up with me. But that line was coming up and I had no one to sing it to, no blue eyes to swim in, no one to gasp the blatant innuendo to. So I did what I knew was right.
I jumped into the crowd.
Well, actually, I fought through it. Somehow, while still managing to play, I fought through that crowd and gasped out those lyrics, that line, that drove the crowd over the edge. I closed my eyes, pretending that they all were Nick, and let them engulf me whole. For a few seconds everything seemed blank, silence, a deep one, that filled my ears like a thick version of feedback from the guitar amp, and I opened them to see Nick on stage, legs spread slightly, playing intently and giving me that look.
That look.
It was like all the feeling was pushed back into me, all the passion, all the power that I feel when I play at concerts. As the guards helped me back onto the stage and my guitar brushed up against the barricade I felt so elated I couldn’t help it, I skipped up to Nick quickly, did my stance, looked him dead in the eyes, got my fingers positioned and played as hard as I could.
Nick looked refreshed almost, bouncing around, doing kicks and high jumps with me, teasing the crowd and even climbing onto Paul’s drum kit and shaking his arse in Paul’s face. Of course, Paul did not like this, and poked him with the drum stick; nor did Bob like it when Nick put his head on his shoulder and played, doing a little shuffle with his feet. But none of that mattered, Nick was back, he was mines to dance with on stage again and talk to on those nights when I just couldn’t get to sleep.
The problem now was, what did that mean?
