Texas Rez

61437

I'm at the part Jonny hears a beautiful singing voice. :lol: I haven't read the rest of the first part, though; I've been too busy writing myself. :P

61435

I'm enjoying it thus far. :nod: That's some pretty decent quality stuff you have there!

Happy birthday Neil Peart! :D

sdjfsadfkl;j! I SEE JUDEEEEEE

:nod: I concur.

61433

Talking Heads - Take Me to the River

Never Let Me Down - David Bowie

UPDATE! :lol: So I got a good start on Twisted Logic! This is a funny line! :lol: I'm definitely going to read more of it.

61431

Hello Penguin! :nice: I think I'm going to start reading some of Twisted Logic now.

Nah, not really. xD In all seriousness, the most interesting places I've been to thus far are the San Jacinto Monument (I literally live, like, two miles from this) and the Alamo; Texan landmarks, pretty much. I'd like to see more of the world, though. I just need to afford the travel costs first. :disappointed:

17-5: “Running Away from Your Problems Won’t Solve Anything (Again)” Finally, I opened the door to Coldplay’s dressing room. I poked my head in to look around and then made my entrance with Tim following as he cracked the door, afraid of making too much noise. I looked around the room in disbelief; their wardrobe with such bold colors, chairs positioned in front of mirrors and an acoustic guitar resting against the wall were the only things occupying the room—Coldplay wasn’t anywhere to be seen nor their bodyguards. “I don’t believe this,” I said in denial. “They’re not even in here! Shouldn’t they be in here?” “They’re doing sound check, remember?” Tim said. I could hear in his voice how annoyed he must’ve been with me at the time. “Let’s just go back outside and wait for the doors to the venue open. It’s safe to say my golden picture is lost… gone, if not.” “Tim, don’t be so pessimistic! I’ll find a way! I found a way to get into their dressing room without getting caught, right?” “Yeah… but… Yeah. Whatever.” Suddenly we heard footsteps and chatter gradually fading in through the crack of the door. Tim and I looked at each other, exchanging facial expressions that read “Oh shit, we’re screwed!” Tim decided to quietly widen the crack to the door a little to leave enough room for him to poke his head through and look down the halls to see whose feet and mouths were making all that noise. Seconds later Tim promptly pulled his head back in the room and cracked the door… again. “Shit! It’s them! It’s the bodyguards from earlier today! Aren’t we going to go talk to them?” “Why would we do that? It’s not gonna be that easy. They’ll be questioning about why we’re here and stuff and I don’t want that to happen—it’d be too dicey,” I pointed out. A light bulb then lit in my head, prompting me to bust out my secret weapon—my phone. “I don’t think 911 will be able to help us out of this situation, Rezzy,” a timid Tim said. “I’m not going to call 911, Dumbass,” I said as I was scrolling down my list of contacts, pressing the call button on the contact named “Dumbass.” A ringtone echoed down the hall from the pockets of one of the bodyguards—a song that had a voice singing “Carry your wooooorld,” aloud. I’d like to believe it was Chris Martin singing, but I’m not sure; I’m not a Coldplay fan. I’m only a fan of Chris Martin’s body. The tapping sounds of shoes walking on the tiled floor and chatter suddenly died as one of the bodyguards answered the ringing phone. “Hello?” “Yes, is Tim there?” I said as Tim mouthed something to me; I wasn’t sure what it was that he mouthed to me, but I think he was saying “Oooooh,” as if he knew what I was up to with my idea. “Who’s Ti—” the bodyguard hesitated “—oh shit!” I suddenly heard footsteps double-time down the hall. “Wait, where are you going?” the accompanying bodyguard—I’m assuming—said. “I forgot to give that guy his phone back! Remember? When I took that picture with him and his friend and Coldplay and whatnot?” “Dumbass! Why did you do that?!” “I swear, it was NOT intentional!” “’Not intentional’ my ass,” Tim mumbled. The footsteps and chatter among the bodyguards faded out as they walked back out to find Tim, who was actually in the dressing room, closing the cracked door. He shot me a cold stare, followed by a malicious slap across the face. “What the hell was that for?!” I said, holding the right side of my face in pain. “For leading us in here! Had you called them when we were outside, they would’ve returned their phone to me and we could’ve been looking at the picture by now!” “Don’t start pointing fingers, Timothy!” “NO! SHUT UP! I HATE MY NAME!” He stormed out of the dressing room in disheartenment—I reluctantly followed him. “Running away from your problems won’t solve anything!” I said to Tim’s back as I closed the door behind me. Tim was leading the way down the hall as we continued walking. I wasn’t sure where Tim was going exactly, but something told me that he was going to track down the bodyguard(s) who was/were in possession of Tim’s phone. If that was the case… I then followed Tim right (literally, right) around a corner. Right when we made our way around the corner in the hall, Tim bumped into someone. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties and buttoned-up white shirt and khakis and an earpiece with a microphone and was wearing a backstage pass around her neck to make it look like she was an important person or something. Her clipboard fell to the floor upon impact against Tim. As I kneeled down to pick up her clipboard, I could hear an apologetic Tim ramble to her. “I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry, ma’am! I… I did not see you there.” “No, it’s okay, really,” she said as she brushed Tim’s filth off of her. “I’ve had worse impacts.” I returned the clipboard to her without looking at the papers that were clipped on; it reminded me that I still have at least some integrity left in me, despite the fact that Tim and I sneaked our way backstage to Coldplay’s dressing room. “Where should you two be anyway?” she finally asked—no introduction whatsoever. “We’re close friends with the band,” Tim said with a concealing smile. “We were personally invited to watch them do sound check.” He then pointed to me. “As a matter of fact, my friend Rezzy and I were just making our way out to the floor right now for the occasion.” “Oh, okay.” The woman smiled. “Just be sure to not get accidentally caught. I don’t want either one of you two to be kicked out of the venue because of people thinking that you’re not supposed to be here. I’ll see you two later after the show, okay?” “Erm… Sure! Sure.” She walked away, cheesing a smile. It was a strange, uncertain smile. I picked up odd vibes from her; as if she just got laid or something. I couldn’t help it. “She wants your sex, Tim,” I nudged him. We continued our way out to the floor. “Now what makes you think that?” “I don’t know. It was something in her smile as she walked away. Need I add that she was talking to you for the majority of the conversation?” “Whatever.” Tim didn’t believe me. Then again, I didn’t think I believe myself either. Suddenly we found ourselves walking down a tunnel-like hall, one that basketball and football players would walk out of in a stadium or arena. At the end of the hall, we saw a black curtain. To our right is a door that read “Enter… Stage Left.” Tim and I exchanged looks with each other, wondering which way to go. “I think we have more of a shot of encountering the bodyguard if we enter through that door,” I said, pointing to the door. “Why would he be behind that door? I’m sure he and his ‘co-worker’ are out there looking for me to give me back my phone.” “Maybe Chris Martin could give us some details on their whereabouts?” “Is Chris Martin the only member of Coldplay you know?” “No. Just because I’m not a Coldplay fan doesn’t mean that my Coldplay knowledge is that low! I can prove it; Chris Martin, Guy Berryman, Will Champion and Jonny motherfucking Buckland.” “Wow… For someone who’s not a Coldplay fan, I must ask you… Where did you get that information?” “I got it from WikiColdplay.” I smiled. Tim sighed out of annoyance. “Let’s go through the door,” he said, placing his hand on the doorknob. “I hope you know what we’re doing.” Before he even got a chance to open the door to the stage, a simple, laidback and yet, intriguing—and catchy—drumbeat started to blast through the autographed walls and the black curtain as the band would begin their sound check. Bass and guitar riffs simultaneously joined in to support the drumming of Will Champion. Anticipation sparkled in Tim’s eyes as anxiety radiated from his body, immediately spicing up the sense of urgency. We both knew we were in for a treat. For once, I agree with what Chris Martin’s muffled voice was singing on the other side of the wall; “In my place, in my place…” I was in my place indeed! I was on the verge of my second meeting with Chris Martin! Continues with 17-6 here...

St. Rezzy's Night In was my favorite at the time I finished writing it, but then a certain volume came along... :lol:

I get the ideas from experiences and daydreams... :P

Hello There - Cheap Trick

61423

My bedroom. :\

Thanks. :nice: You're always welcome to read more.

61420

Thank goodness. :wacky:

It's my hill! :dance: