"Man, I can't believe this shit." Slash had been complaining all goddamn day, and he wasn't losing steam as the night wore on. "No fuckin' groupies, no fuckin' decent food, shitty fuckin' bus ride with no air conditioner... Ugh. What next?"
Though he was one of my best friends, I hated when he got like that. Just fuckin' whine, whine, whine, all the goddamn time when he was in those moods. Drove me fuckin' apeshit.
I watched with a silent eye roll as he jammed the key into the hotel door and opened it with a slam of his shoulder, not bothering to flick on the light as he tossed his bag into the inky darkness.
A cringing shatter rent through the relative quiet of the late night. He only managed a giggling, "Oops," mischievously placing his fingertips over his grinning lips, turning around to peer up at me with a falsely innocent look beneath a few dangling curls.
I wilted with exhaustion and anxiety. I was tired as hell and wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed and pass the fuck out. Man, I hoped whatever that was didn't just bust into slicing shrapnel all over my bed. That motherfucker would be sleepin' on the floor if that was the case.
Slash disappeared into the black room, vanishing like a ghost, still fucking bitching to me, though I effectively drowned him out by that point.
I consider it a special skill. A survival skill. Love the guy, but damn, he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.
I groped along the wall, found the switch, and granted myself the light I needed for peace of mind. Shards of bird shit yellow ceramic lamp lay all over the cheap, threadbare, forest green carpet, complete with black gum spots and cigarette burns, between our two beds, and that was fine with me. Not my problem. They could take that shit outta Slash's paycheck, not mine.
I tossed my bag beside the bed and dove in head first, sprawling out on my belly with a groaning sigh of fatigue. I hugged the pillow and buried my face in it, paying no mind to the scents of chlorine and moth balls that should've signaled cleanliness, but I knew better considering the questionable facade of the hotel. I was too damn tired to care, and I've slept on worse in my day, anyway.
The worn springs on the opposite bed squealed like a heavy weight had been dropped upon them and the television blared to life with a lively, "Alright! Lessee what the fuck this cow town's got on TV! Duff, man, ya got any preferences? Might just be Little House on the fuckin' Prairie for our luck. Do podunk towns even have porn? The fuck am I supposed to watch?"
"I don't really care," I halfheartedly mumbled right into my pillow, eyes closed, muscles relaxed. "Just keep it down, man. I'm tired."
I heard a small series of cracks, a sound I knew was a liquor bottle being opened.
"Dude, it's only one thirty in the morning," Slash sniffed, emitting several loud glugs followed by an impressive belch I was too weary to compliment. "Want some coke or somethin'? I got a little."
"Nah," I shook my head, then forced myself to sit up to at least remove my boots and shirt before I knocked out. I tossed them in a disheveled pile right beside my bag, making sure to leave on my shorts just in case I was the victim of another one of Slash's pranks that could send me running naked, screaming, and flailing down the hall. Couldn't be too careful.
