The zingy smell of freshly trimmed grass greeted my nostrils as the sweet spring air carried through the crack of the window. Knowing full well I wouldn't be able to return to slumber, I peeled open my eyes to adjust to the start of another day of my fairly average life. My bed sheets were crumpled around my neck, whilst my toes were being exposed to the cool breeze. Using my toes, I carefully wrapped the corner of the duvet around my heel and allowed the immediate heat of the sheets to warm my nipped skin. Sunday. Bloody Sunday. One, if not, the worst days of the week in my opinion. Nothing ever happened in Vegas on Sundays. Except gambling, sex and parties. But Vegas will always be gambling and partying and having sex. Thankfully work wasn't on my agenda today, and I was blessed to have slept in till this time. This time? What time is it? Leaning over, but still keeping my duvet wrapped snuggly around myself, I lifted my cell phone from my bedside cabinet. 11:43am. A feeling of accomplishment washed through me since this was the first morning on a day off I'd been able to sleep past nine fifteen. Looking at the top of my device, I noticed a few app notifications. CatsofInstagram is now following you on Instagram. Today is Bert Stevens birthday. Wish him a happy birthday. Smiler234 retweeted your tweet, "isnt he...".
With a swipe of a thumb, the pointless notifications were washed away from my lock screen. However, a text from my best friend was something I knew I needed to respond to.
Are you still meeting me from work to see that band this evening? I don't mind if not, its just so I know what's going on!!!
Shit!!!! I totally forgot all about the band I'd promised Shannon I'd go and see with her. We'd gone for cocktails on Friday with Aaliyah, and like every time we go out for cocktails, I completely ignore my limits and get wasted. She mentioned some up and coming band that were playing our local jazz bar that she wanted to see. I recall her youtube-ing a few of their songs, but I don't remember anything from that moment apart from having a pitcher of cocktail to my left and a bottle of white wine to my right, and a black straw that hung limp between my lips as I vigorously sipped between the two. Awakening the darkened screen, I proceeded to tap out my reply.
Yeah I'm still up for that if you are. You finish at 4 right? And what's the name of the band? And what's the bar called again? I'll check the bars website for show times.
Allowing the device to fall with a soft thump onto the duvet, I closed my eyes and allowed myself a few more minutes of silence and peace before it would be time for me to get up and fully face the day ahead of me. No sooner did I feel myself drifting back off to dreamland, the vibration again the quilt increased my heart rate and forced my eyes open sharply.
Yeah I finish at 4. They're called the killers. I'm pretty sure you'll like them. And the bar is called the yardbird jazz bar.
Jazz isn't my thing. And I have a feeling The Killers won't be either.
