(slow start, promise it gets hot lol)
The dusk swept thickly around the little old place. It was a boney old house that seemed held together by a prayer. Four years since he’d inherited it, and it was still the old hovel, like something out of a Tennessee Williams melodrama. Dad would be proud.
On good days Theo fancied he was Marlon Brando, but he wasn’t quite as much the untamed force of nature. He was compassionate but corked; a worrier, withheld. And yet, lazy and sprawlingly disorganised. A bad combination. As the hard border of 30 seemed to draw closer – though he had a few years yet still – he felt more adrift and disempowered by the day.
Oh, the music was better than ever. The band was getting tighter, as they always were, but still the labels were lukewarm, and the glamour of thankless touring was peeling off. Friends were using the phrase ‘real job’ with less and less of a teasing manner. He’d found himself discussing the state of Traffic and The Weather without mocking the fact that he was discussing the state of Traffic and The Weather.