The man who dreamed about muse

Chapter 3

Chris Wolstenholme. The name left a desert in my mouth. I hadn't heard it before, it meant nothing to me. Until now. These dreams probably mean nothing, probably my mind conjuring up stories and adventures and places to relieve the boredom. Probably something I shouldn't worry about, erase it from my mind. Probably nothing.

I tire aimlessly searching for that song, that particular melody or a borrowed phrase. I came up with nothing. Nothing to match the song, or the name and no clues to investigate further.

Although it bothered me greatly, I left my research for another time. I directed my thoughts to my night ahead. It had been long, too long, since someone had invited me out anywhere. It may be refreshing to socialise again. but honestly I was scared. I was never one for socialising and the idea of going to a place full of drunk people with one aim, sex, was daunting. I hoped no girls would hit on me. I couldn't deal with that awkwardness..

Usually I wouldn't care about my outwardly appearance, but tonight seemed special. I don't know how, but deep in my gut, like bacteria eating away at my flesh, I could feel it. So i actually combed my sand paper hair, put on my jeans reserved for dates, black denim, and a jacket. No, I didn't feel confident whatsoever. I was more of a lady bug caught in a windshield than a shark in open waters.