Dawn

Setting Sun

1963

Jimmy was no stranger to the flamboyant world of music, even as a studio musician. He'd seen his fair share of androgynous males, who cladded them selves in feathery scarves and white cat-eyed glasses, walking with confidence and exaggeration. He'd dealt with the pretentious prick of a musician who swaggered into the studio like a castrated Pitbull; losers who tried to slap Jimmy around like he was the one who needed help for his musical incompetence's.

However, the most sobering time of Jimmy's work as a studio musician was on the unfortunate event that he'd meet a user. Jimmy was only nineteen.

The man had been a brilliant guitar player, and instead of wanting to take credit for Jimmy's talent, he wanted Jimmy to simply echo his playing to create a psychedelic back call. Jimmy hadn't been entirely sure how to interact with this man's standoffish aura, but his work was alluring and his speech, though a whisper, was intelligent.

When Jimmy had perched before the man with his guitar, ready to learn his new roll, he'd halted, immobilized to the spot. Olive green eyes stared into pinhole pupils.

Jimmy walked home that day with a sticky disturbance chilling his bones, hoping to never encounter such a thing again.

Fate have it, the man, like many others, had taken a keen liking to Jimmy's playing. Jimmy had tried to worm his way out of the gig, but a mouth lashing from his manager ("you pretentious fuck, we don't judge shady characters here, now scurry your skinny ass back in there") told him this gig was a set deal.

Jimmy couldn't grumble about the company necessarily; Shannon, the singer, was a cheery fellow with a wicked sense of humor (if not a tad unpolished), and Jimmy reckoned he was the type of person nobody could truly dislike. The rest of the band was a genuinely groovy group, caught up in the hippy movement the had invaded their modern culture. The guitarist, Jude was his name, was a particularly charming fellow, Jimmy had found when Jude had shown up sober the next time around, and despite Jude's jittery antics Jimmy found himself warming up to work with the him again.

Only, the next session was different, Jude was withdrawn again, seeming to disappear into the rooms shadows and inevitably dragging Jimmy with him. Jimmy avoided looking into Jude's eyes that day.

Over the course of a year Jimmy had woven himself into the bands tapestry, so much so that they had offered him a position in their next promotion tour; an opportunity Jimmy had been scouring for. Jimmy had enthusiastically agreed.

He wishes he hadn't.

In the beginning Jimmy had watch the drugs deterioration of Jude's body like you would watching the seasons change from autumn to winter; in stages, not noticing the subtle slip of weather until a particularly frigid day blew wind down your spin. However, when the band made the decision to use the studio Jimmy worked at as their recording house, and Jimmy as their consultant and secondary guitarist, things changed. Jimmy watched the heroin corrode Jude's essence like watching fluoroantimonic acid ravage away an antique china doll.

Jude and Jimmy had created a flourishing friendship within the studio, and even managed to catch each other on the weekends despite their frantic schedules. Jimmy had, on more then one occasion, tried to brooch the stalking shadow of Jude's addiction. They'd be sitting on the tragically ugly stripped couch in the studio when Jimmy would timidly ask Jude about his weight. Yet before Jimmy's sentence could finish leaving his lip, Jude's face would turn to stone cold and he'd calmly avoided Jimmy with a "I have it under control." Jimmy wishes he'd pushed it.

Some weeks Jude would lose more precious weight then he had the leisure to spare. When Jimmy would invite Jude over for some grass on the weekend he'd hold back on the paraphernalia himself, and instead shove as many high calorie foods down Jude's throat as possible. If Jimmy could he would take jude home every day and feed him till he was bursting if only it meant Jude's skin wouldn't pull so tight over his ribs; if it meant the sharp definition of his face looked beautiful instead of sickly gaunt.