death

We usually slept at the promoter's house but this day he had family with him so there was no room. But don't worry, he said Mary, the door girl has said you can stay at her flat if you don't mind floor and sofas. Seemed okay! He said her friend would also be staying, because Mary was a bit nervous. Fair enough! This week had been the first time she'd really been out in a year, she'd been very depressed since her boyfriend had died. Oh!
Anyway, her friend seemed nice, chatty and fun, and after the gig we had drinks and a laugh in the other bar, although Mary kept just talking to the promoter. Finally, in the early hours we drove round to the flat; it was a little bit run-down and bare but we were grateful of a roof over our heads. She led us to the kitchen and told us to help ourselves to coffee; it was then that we all noticed, carved quite deeply into the kitchen door ' I LOVE TONY R.I.P.' We all looked round at each other with varying degrees of bemused panic, but said nothing. We made coffee and went back to the living room, where she had lit about 30 candles, and was playing some awful goth music. For the next hour (or so it felt) we sat in almost silence as she told us about how her boyfriend had been decapitated in a motorcycle accident, what the funeral was like, and how she would never love again! Then she and her friend left us and went to bed. None of us really felt like sleeping after that, so the drummer tried to lighten the mood by doing Billy Connolly impressions as we carried on chain smoking.