Post by theanti on Apr 5, 2009 5:10:42 GMT -5
Ah the days they be a dragging. And the lights they be blurring like street lights in squinted eyes. Oh love.
There Tweeks sat in the hallways of his hotel. He was back on the road and had been for the past few weeks and nobody had really even seen him a whole lot. He was there and was seeing everything. But why the fuck just sit back and possibly see his whole world crash. He twirled a small pack of matches in between his fingers in his right hand. Sitting before him he had a notebook. Obviously a notebook he used or had, had for a long time. It sat very worn and torn before him open. He ripped a page out and slapped it on the lively carpet pattern he sat on. Pulling out a match, it took him a few tries to get the match go off of the crappy bar match pack. He dropped the match on paper and burned for a bit and went out, only leaving a few holes. He sang to himself as he continued to strike matches against the pack dropping them on the sheet of paper, hoping it catches fire and goes out good.
Tweeks/// I sold my soul to the open road ...
He taps the beat against the floor hearing footsteps against the floor coming in his direction from somewhere. One finally left a good burn through the paper to the carpet. The smell hit him like the smell of burnt hair. It automatically made him think of an old roommates girlfriend who did her hair too much. He shook his head and looked up in front of him ...no one. Must of been someone going to their room behind him. He was too lazy to look back. Tore another page out the notebook and slapped it atop of the burnt one. Continuing to go through the matches.
TBCB Whoever, Open for Anything
There Tweeks sat in the hallways of his hotel. He was back on the road and had been for the past few weeks and nobody had really even seen him a whole lot. He was there and was seeing everything. But why the fuck just sit back and possibly see his whole world crash. He twirled a small pack of matches in between his fingers in his right hand. Sitting before him he had a notebook. Obviously a notebook he used or had, had for a long time. It sat very worn and torn before him open. He ripped a page out and slapped it on the lively carpet pattern he sat on. Pulling out a match, it took him a few tries to get the match go off of the crappy bar match pack. He dropped the match on paper and burned for a bit and went out, only leaving a few holes. He sang to himself as he continued to strike matches against the pack dropping them on the sheet of paper, hoping it catches fire and goes out good.
Tweeks/// I sold my soul to the open road ...
He taps the beat against the floor hearing footsteps against the floor coming in his direction from somewhere. One finally left a good burn through the paper to the carpet. The smell hit him like the smell of burnt hair. It automatically made him think of an old roommates girlfriend who did her hair too much. He shook his head and looked up in front of him ...no one. Must of been someone going to their room behind him. He was too lazy to look back. Tore another page out the notebook and slapped it atop of the burnt one. Continuing to go through the matches.
TBCB Whoever, Open for Anything