Making Brook's Life

Chapter 4

Shoplifters of The World Unite-The Smiths

Fitz rarely did shots. But when he did, he was probably already drunk. There was no doubting that on this occasion, that was the case. Nathan had baited him, and stupidly he had taken it. The consequences of such a decision were starting to take effect. A headache tightened around his temple. Somewhere Nathan said something about being victorious and Amy was shaking Fitz's shoulder.

He groaned and attempted to stand up, pushing off the bar with his hands, only to stumble off to the left.

The sound of laughter followed him as Amy half helped-half dragged him out of the bar.

"Seriously, Fitz, it's too early."

Sighing deeply he thought about dinner tomorrow. They would know he'd been drinking, Nathan would tell them and then they would judge him again. He was screwed.

Hauling himself away from his friend's protests he managed to make it to the door. A blast of cold air soon returned logic. He set off down the street, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other more than the accusing glares that followed him as he lolloped towards the Den...or...he thought it was this way.

Amy had been right: it was way too early.

After a long dazed expedition through the streets of Leeds, he finally reached the familiar door of the Den. A bold graffitied sign screaming "Charlie Don't Studios" was bolted across a worn wooden door.

Inside, the old leather sofas smelt of coffee and cigarettes and framed posters, records and certificates lined the walls. Hauling his guitar from over his shoulder he uncerimoniously shuffled into the middle of the Den, collapsed into one of the sofas and began tuning. The strings whined in protest and eventually he settled for a tone lower than normal. It sounded awful. Or maybe that was how the alcohol heard it?
Giving up on that idea, he threw the guitar (gently cradled and placed it) on the sofa opposite.

Maybe a quick nap would be a good idea.