Brian Campo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brian_campo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
birthright_rpg2013-09-04 05:58 pm
brian_campo) wrote in birthright_rpg2013-09-04 05:58 pm
Introverts Make Convenient Targets
Brian loaded an amp into the van and shoved it across the floorboard. The wheels belonged to Mikey, who bought the vehicle to transport his drums all over town. Now it served as the band’s transportation to and from their practice space and shows. Fully loaded, there wasn’t even room for a copilot, forget about a hapless kid hoping for free candy.
He mopped sweat from his forehead. The gesture made his hair stand at funky angles.
From the back of the Dive, a male voice yelled, “Hey, Brian. I’m gonna get a beer. You comin’ in?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He hopped on the tailgate, electing to sit in the alley by himself. It was rare, but every once in a while, he got sick of the crowd in there. All the body contact with strangers dripping beer and sweat as they squeezed into line at the bar, the odors of pot and crack smoke mingling in the bathroom stalls, and even the noise got to him. It was claustrophobic. He wouldn’t be out there for long – another band was going on in twenty and he wanted to hear their set – so he decided to soak up the privacy while he had a chance.
He tugged his foot onto his knee to inspect a scuff in his boot. An impeccable appearance wasn’t on his must-do list, but the boots were sacred turf. He licked his thumb and rubbed the mark.
[Thread: Open to Tristan]
He mopped sweat from his forehead. The gesture made his hair stand at funky angles.
From the back of the Dive, a male voice yelled, “Hey, Brian. I’m gonna get a beer. You comin’ in?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He hopped on the tailgate, electing to sit in the alley by himself. It was rare, but every once in a while, he got sick of the crowd in there. All the body contact with strangers dripping beer and sweat as they squeezed into line at the bar, the odors of pot and crack smoke mingling in the bathroom stalls, and even the noise got to him. It was claustrophobic. He wouldn’t be out there for long – another band was going on in twenty and he wanted to hear their set – so he decided to soak up the privacy while he had a chance.
He tugged his foot onto his knee to inspect a scuff in his boot. An impeccable appearance wasn’t on his must-do list, but the boots were sacred turf. He licked his thumb and rubbed the mark.
[Thread: Open to Tristan]