Somethin' Stupid - Izzy Stradlin

XII- Happy Newyears!

"I think I'm gonna wear the pink one." Al said looking at herself in the mirror.
"But it's new year's eve!"
"So what? It's not like if i don't wear red i won't be getting laid all year, I'm pretty hot."
"C'mon it's just for good luck! Besides, we'll be matching!" Samara pulled out of her closet a red leather cheap looking dress. "I don't know... I could do a mini with a lacey red top?" "What?! No! Every chick is gon' be wearin' a mini dress!" "Fuck fine, pass the bottle." Pre-drinking together was a habit for the girls.

"God fucking damnit" Duff deepened his hands in the drawer, "Oh my God i think i might have touched something wet." Steven, a witness to his words, made a disgusted face while he backcombed his hair.
"What are you even lookin' for?" Slash yelled from the bathroom, his voice muffled from a cigarette. "My lucky red boxers. I always wear them on new year's eve to hook up with hot chicks all year long.".
"Red boxers, red boxers... Are you talking about the pair with "Dickwad" written on the back?" "Yeah, I guess so". Izzy walked in the corridor that dived the bathroom and Duff's bedroom (for the week), "I threw them out months ago, they had shit stains even on the front." the raven haired man said making his way to the kitchen. "Dude what the fuck!? How am I supposed to hook up now?" Duff whined slamming the drawer back in place "Go commando and put on red pants." Steve suggested and his band mate simply nodded. Slash yelled again from the small bathroom"I have a pair I could land you. But they're a bit tight." "Just how I like 'em.".

Lou paced back and forth across the living room, glancing at the clock every few seconds. The party was set to begin in less than an hour, and their friends were nowhere in sight.
"Where are they?" Lou muttered, running a hand through his hair. "They should have been here by now, I bet they got pulled over by some bastard cop who put them in for like an ounce of weed."
Phil, reclining on the couch with a joint lazily hanging from his lips, watched Lou with half-lidded eyes. He took a deep drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and grinned. "Relax, man. They'll be here. It's still early."

Lou shot him a look of frustration. "Easy for you to say. You're as high as a kite. If tonight we get the cops called on us again i'm quitting everything and I'll become a pastor. Have you seen Axl the other night? He will start a fight for sure. Or Slash and Izzy will bring their guitars and start an impromptu concert that gets us another noise complaint from the neighbours ? What if—"
"Chill," Phil interrupted, raising a hand. "Axl knows how to handle himself. They all do. As for the rest, we'll handle it when it comes."

Lou sighed, stopping to lean against the wall. "I just want everything to go smoothly. Last time, we almost had to spend a night in."

Phil sat up, patting the space beside him. "Come here. Sit down. Take a hit, if you want. It'll help."
Lou shook his head but sat down next to Phil. "I don't think weed is the answer right now."
"Alright, fair enough." Phil took another puff, the tip of the joint glowing a bright orange. "But stressing out isn't going to help either. We've done everything we can. And if anyone dares to ruin your party i'm gonna stab them in the eyes."
Lou let out a deep breath. "I know. You're right. Thank you."

Phil smiled and put an arm around Lou's shoulders. "Trust me, in a little while, this place will be packed, and you'll be wishing for some peace and quiet. So, like my pop used to say, enjoy the calm before the storm." Lou looked into Phil's eyes and focused on the hint of green they had near the iris, he found soothing his friend's presence and hoped Phil felt the same way.

Just as Lou was starting to relax, there was a knock on the door before the Gun n Roses guys barged in.
"Jesus fucking Christ how many did you bring?" Lou asked and offered an hand to Slash who was carrying two medium amps.

Just half an hour passed and the house was already packed. The apartment was a small, run-down unit in a seedy part of Los Angeles. The building itself was a relic of the past, with cracked stucco walls and a flickering neon sign above the entrance. The heavy bass of the music vibrated through the thin walls, audible from the street below.
Inside, the cramped living room was packed with people, a crush of bodies swaying to the relentless beat of heavy metal and punk rock. The furniture, a mismatched collection of second-hand finds, was pushed against the walls to make room for dancing.