Lonely People

McCartney vs. Everyone

We had been to the Southern part of America several times in our vast careers. Most of the time, we visited in the autumn or winter. Brian and Ellen were smart enough not to send us to the south in the summer. Unfortunately, it didn't change much for six kids who were used to English autumns.

"I'm bloody boiling here," I moaned, falling onto the bed and sighing.

One of our few early shows was over and done. Outdoor concerts had become the bane of my existence, especially when in the south. It was boiling hot in Texas, and the residents were walking around in jeans. I could barely survive in shorts.

"I'm melted," Molly fell down next to me, "Can't play guitar if I'm a puddle."

Linda casually sat down on the nearby couch. Heather was sitting next to her, as dry as a bone without so much as a droplet of sweat on her. Both girls were completely dry while Molly and I were soaked.

"It was actually somewhat cool today," Linda commented.

I flung my head up, "What?!"

"It tops one hundred degrees in the summer."

"Fucking hell!"

I forgot she was using Fahrenheit while I was stuck in Celsius, but that didn't stop the shock. It was only sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit that day, which was, apparently, cool for Texas. To us Liverpudlians, we had stepped into an oven. To Linda, an American girl who had spent a fair portion of her life in America, it was a cool walk in the park. 

"Blimey," Molly muttered.

I shook my head, "Next time we play in Texas, let's come in the winter."

"That wouldn't be much better."

"It snows, sometimes," Linda commented.

"There you go, that's better than this blistering heat."

Linda shook her head as Molly and I sighed. Despite the three fans blowing and the air conditioning on high, I was still sweating profusely. By the end of that visit, I was sure I wouldn't have any sweat left in my body and we still had to go to Arizona.

All of us had relaxed our muscles and taken a deep breath. The tour had only just begun and we were already stressed. At any moment, I expected the cabin fever to make a comeback. We would be fighting just like last time. I despised fighting with my mates, but, sometimes, you lose a bit of your sanity when being shoved around like prisoners.

The cabin fever did make a comeback. It started with all of us hearing two shouts from across the hall. Linda glanced up nervously, holding Heather closer. Molly looked confused while I sighed loudly.

"Betcha a fiver I know who's shouting," I muttered.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "Sounds like John and Paul."

"Bingo."

I pushed myself off from the bed and moved to the door. Sighing deeply, I flung it open. The door to John and Paul's room was open. Inside, I could see the famed duo yelling at each other with George and Ringo standing, silently, in the corner. Once again, the arguments had surfaced.

I was in no mood to play peacekeeper. After coming off of a vigorous show in searing heat, all I wanted to do was take a nice shower and a nap. I didn't want to have to break apart two gits who probably didn't even know what they were fighting about.

"It's my song, so my name should go first!" Paul shouted.

John snorted, "Your song? I wrote half of it, you bloody git!"