⇾ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

↠ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

SATURDAY, MAY 8, 1965

The Beatles owed a lot to Bob Dylan, and by that, I mean that they owed the knowledge of cannabis to him. The curly-haired, American folk singer had introduced them to the joys of smoking weed the previous August. Since the boys had been on tour in America, Alexandria hadn't been present for the occasion, but it wasn't long after George returned home that he passed on his knowledge to her.

So, what better way to repay Bob than to attend one of his concerts? That was tomorrow night's plan...after they made it back to London, that is. Amesbury had been a drag, they all agreed on that, and they were excited to be back in London. George was itching to see Alexandria again after his weed-fest with Paul, but he was also nervous. He'd made the executive decision to actually start planning a proposal now, and that was a tad intimidating. He didn't even know where to start! He had to get a ring, plan the occasion, figure out a time that would be right, think of some sappy shite to say to her, and all that. That was a lot, and it all had to be perfect!

Paul's head was slumped against the train window, his eyes were closed, and he was snoring like a bloody elephant; John held a paperback book directly in front of his face; Ringo laid on Paul's shoulder, effectively creating a pile of Beatles; and George had his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs as he stared out the train window.

"Why so damn contemplative, George?" John asked. George looked over at John. His eyes peered over the top of his glasses as he glared at George.

"Just thinkin'," George responded. Once again, John was struck by a nagging suspicion.

"'Bout what?" he asked.

"Why does it matter?" George retorted.

John shrugged. "Dunno. I'm just curious."

"You know, John, something about you is on my mind."

"That's a little weird, George," John replied, raising a single eyebrow. "But, I'll play along."

"Paul says you think Alexandria's up the duff." George scowled, his eyebrows furrowing together so much that they almost looked like one.

John snorted, then returned his eyes to his book. "He does? What a crock of shite."

"Don't lie, John. Not pissed at you for being bloody nosy..." George paused. "Well, not really. Just pissed because you assume things instead of just askin' me, then you go and tell the lads about these assumptions, and I'm always the last to find out about 'em." George crossed his arms. "Plus, you've no reason to assume she's pregnant. What has she done to make you think that?"

"Well, in the Bahamas you two were being all secretive about stuff at the end. I mean, she left set early one day and you just acted like it was nothing. Then, on the plane home she was complaining, and crying, and going to the loo all the damn time."