Nessa wants us to get together soon so that we can 'rock out'. She wants to spread her crazy all over my apartment. My baser instincts suggest 'why not?', but I know better than that. I know that once she's here, she'll be coming back here all the time. And the crazy will get crazier.
Nessa says she's PMS-ing and proves it by fighting with her ex-boyfriend by the bar's jukebox. Some shit-ass Iron Maiden song drowns out their argument, and for the first time in my life I thank the good lord for Iron Maiden. All I want to do is finish the relatively-full beer that she bought for me moments before the fighting began. I could just leave it there unfinished, but that just ain't gonna happen. Guess I could guzzle the damn thing, too, but I don't need that much shit beer in me all at once. I simply pick up the pace, and turn my back towards the jukebox.
Nessa's got the scoop - the word on the street, the latest gossip and rumors that just gotta be true. I hear things about myself, about my ex, about several other close friends - and it's all bullshit, of course. Though it's likely not worth the effort, I do my best to set the record straight on the facts of the matter concerning my ex and other close friends. I couldn't give a shit about any rumors concerning me; they can believe whatever they want to believe. Ain't like I value the opinions of the people in this place anyway: I only came here 'cause the bar I usually frequent was completely and surprisingly packed, and I was in no mood for a crowded bar. Once this beer's done, they won't be seeing me here again for a very long time.
Nessa's done with the fighting and the rumormongering. She wants to know what I'm up to later and when we're gonna rock out. I finish my beer, tell her I'll see her around - that I'll keep her posted on the rocking out that will never actually happen - and make my way out of there. I'm home much earlier than I anticipated and have no one to 'rock out' with; on this night, though, that's probably the best possible outcome.
Nessa says she's PMS-ing and proves it by fighting with her ex-boyfriend by the bar's jukebox. Some shit-ass Iron Maiden song drowns out their argument, and for the first time in my life I thank the good lord for Iron Maiden. All I want to do is finish the relatively-full beer that she bought for me moments before the fighting began. I could just leave it there unfinished, but that just ain't gonna happen. Guess I could guzzle the damn thing, too, but I don't need that much shit beer in me all at once. I simply pick up the pace, and turn my back towards the jukebox.
Nessa's got the scoop - the word on the street, the latest gossip and rumors that just gotta be true. I hear things about myself, about my ex, about several other close friends - and it's all bullshit, of course. Though it's likely not worth the effort, I do my best to set the record straight on the facts of the matter concerning my ex and other close friends. I couldn't give a shit about any rumors concerning me; they can believe whatever they want to believe. Ain't like I value the opinions of the people in this place anyway: I only came here 'cause the bar I usually frequent was completely and surprisingly packed, and I was in no mood for a crowded bar. Once this beer's done, they won't be seeing me here again for a very long time.
Nessa's done with the fighting and the rumormongering. She wants to know what I'm up to later and when we're gonna rock out. I finish my beer, tell her I'll see her around - that I'll keep her posted on the rocking out that will never actually happen - and make my way out of there. I'm home much earlier than I anticipated and have no one to 'rock out' with; on this night, though, that's probably the best possible outcome.
