> There were times when you loved being a bassist, and times when you hated it. Granted, you could play guitar almost as well as you could the bass, but not nearly as good as your lead. Fuck, you hated that guy, you hated this song, and you hated this crowd. You didn’t actually hate the song that much, but it was terrible for the end of a gig. After some little applause, you packed up your case, leaned it over against a wall, and went straight for the bar.
> You called for a drink, nothing all that simple, and your mind drifted to the thought of your mate. You’d done all this just to get away from him for the night, and being fairly pissed off at him didn’t help either. He’d probably kill you if he knew you were here, and you had to admit, you were starting to share that opinion. The place was littered with highbloods. Impatient as ever, you snap over to the bartender to hurry it up.