Drummer Boy

Tenement

The morning sun came peeking through the bedroom curtains in my Kensington flat. It was a cold Saturday morning in the middle of November, and I was contemplating if I really wanted to get out of bed or not.

I hated the cold weather in London this time of the year.  The wind that tore through my clothes and made my hair all frizzy… Ugh, I just hated it. I looked over at the clock. It was currently 11. I stretched my tired body and pushed the blanket aside.

It had been a rough night last night. My best friend and co-worker Katie had thrown a huge party, celebrating some good reviews she got on her latest article. Both of us were newly hired writers for a London-based music magazine called "Xposed." To cut a long story short, the party was pretty wild. The alcohol was flowing and the vinyl were spinning all night long. No wonder why my legs were so sore today. DUI. Dancing under influence.

I cringed as my feet hit the cold floor. "Never wearing heels again", I mumbled to myself. Wearing only panties and an oversized t-shirt, I made my way into the bathroom.

"What the hell happened to you", I said to my reflection. I had giant under-eye circles and puffy cheecks. My long dark-blonde hair was all tangled and messy. I decided that the best solution was a hot shower. After having scrubbed every inch of my body and lathered up my birdsnest, I rinsed it all off. Hot water always made me feel better whenever I had a hangover.

After turning off the shower and drying my body, I threw on the first clothes I could find in my closet. Might as well wear something comfy, since I wasn't going out to work until later tonight.

I was in love with my new job.

It had always been my dream to be involved in the music buisness. Even though I wasn't writing, producing or performing any music, I had the powerful job of telling people what music rocked and what music sucked.

I worked late because concerts, gigs and release parties were night-affairs. I would attend the gigs, listen and take notes, head back home to my beloved flat and start writing reviews.

I usually got to meet the band members backstage to ask some questions. Sometimes it could be quite difficult to get some real answers from the band. The members would usually be drunk, high and horny by the time I made my way backstage.

Not saying I was model-material, but I was blonde and only 23 years old. I liked my looks. Big, green eyes, wavy hair down to my waist and a heart-shaped face. I was around 1.65 and skinny.

I had always gotten attention from boys, but never really cared much for any of them. I had only had one boyfriend in my life, his name was George. We stayed together for 2 years. I put him before anything else and would do everything for him. That was, of course, until I found him cheating at his own flat with the girl next-door.

In my small kitchen I heated up some of last night's lasagne and sat down at the couch with a glass of milk. I burned my tongue on the way too hot lasagne and gulped down some milk to ease the pain.

After finishing my meal, I put my plate and glass in the kitchen sink. I'd have to clean that up later. As I reached for the newspaper, I looked outside the window. The street was busy, as always in Kensington.

One of the things I loved about this place, were the people. Fashionable, stylish, cool people. Rich people. I, however, lived from paycheck to paycheck. Being a writer paid the rent, not alot more than that...

I flipped through the newspaper until I found what I was looking for, a note about tonights gig at The Rainbow. The headliners were a band called Queen. They were a british, up and coming band. They'd had huge success with their single "Killer Queen" and were gaining popularity fast.

I was excited to have gotten the chance to cover this gig, as I knew these guys were insanely talented musicians. They were pretty hot too. Putting the newspaper down, I started to plan my outfit for tonight. What should I wear to a rock concert?