The room is a massive jungle gym of four-by-four posts supporting a loft that, in itself is another room. The front half of the room, not covered by the loft, has three giant bay windows that look out to the pillars of the front porch and Milledge Avenue. There is a couch under the windows, and another one situated opposite of the first. From this second couch emerges a head, crowned by tattered black hair and bejeweled by two blue swollen eyes. “Ugh,” says Ian.

“Come on, Pirata!” says Travis, coming around the front of the couch. In a Mexican accent, “We are going eento town.”

“Wake up!” John chides, sitting on the couch under the windows. He pushes aside two empty whiskey bottles on the coffee table and puts his feet up.

Ian had sat up and is rubbing his eyes. He is shirtless and wearing jeans. “Man, what time is it?”

“‘Bout four,” replies Travis, sitting down next to him.

“Shit.”

“Have a good time?” asks John.

“It was nuts.”

“Where’s Bubble-boy?” asks Travis, referring to Ian’s allergic and sickly roommate.

Ian laughs at hearing the name. “We ran him off I guess. He’s staying with his girlfriend for a while and then going home for the summer.” Standing up, Ian stretches hard and orients himself toward the bathroom, looking to be a bit off-kilter still. “God, she’s revolting.” He takes two steps before stopping to think about where he is off to. Turning, he says, “Le’me get a shower and I’ll go with you.”

“Cool. We’ll stop and get you some coffee after we drop off my amp.”

Passing through the door to the bathroom, Ian shuts it after himself, and after a few minutes John and Traivs can hear the sound of running water. John had picked up a photo magazine from off the coffee table and is thumbing through it, lounging on the couch. Sitting opposite John, Travis absentmindedly picks up a half-full bottle of gin, sniffs it, smiles and cradles the bottle to his chest. Surveying the room, Travis looks at all the posters, bottles, and the occasional eight-by-tens that Ian had snapped and developed. There are two street signs and a stop sign nailed to the wall. There are clothes strewn everywhere, hanging from every imaginable precipice. Bored with the magazine, John sets it back down on the table and looks at Travis blankly, who looks blankly back, and then raises his eyebrows as if to say I don’t know.

They both look around the room for a minute more before John remarks, “I have a very small, distracting house.”

Travis nods quickly in feigned understanding.

“It’s in the middle of the street.”

Looking at John and closing one eye, Travis replies with the perverted uncle’s voice, “I got your small, distracting house right here in my pants.” Leaning back on the couch, he inserts his free hand into the waist of his jeans, letting the gin bottle hang limp from the other.

“What’d'ya think’s wrong with your amp?”

“Probably just blew a fuse or somethin’—it won’t cost too much.”

“Have you just been using your other one?”

“Actually,” Travis laughs at the thought before continuing, “I haven’t really practiced in about a week—hence my dissatisfaction with last night’s show.”

Rolling his eyes, John sympathizes. “Me neither.”

“I’ll get back on the ball once I get this amp fixed.”

John nods. “I think I’m gonna’ get a mixer.”

“You got that much cash?”

“Just a small one.”

Looking at the gin bottle, holding it loosely by the throat, Travis just says, “I got your mixer right here in my pants.”

John steps up to Travis and Melissa, hands in pockets, and a box underneath one arm. “Hey.”

“What’s up, Lardo?”

John shrugs.

“Hi,” Melissa says.

Travis makes introductions.

Reaching out, John shakes Melissa’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says plainly, and Travis looks at his friend more closely. Something is wrong. “You all right?”

John tilts his head left then right, and then says, nodding slowly, “It’s been an interesting day.”

“The band? Rachel?”

John just squints his eyes a bit. Hesitantly, he repeats himself. “It’s just been an interesting day.”

Travis nods in understanding. “Well, uh, Nick and Karen are here in back. And I think we’re goin’ to Mean Mike’s to find Dizzy and Kristin a little later.”

“Okay,” John replies. Looking at the bar, John says, “I’m gonna’ get a drink.”

“All right, buddy,” Travis pats John on the shoulder and as John starts to walk away, calls after him, “Are you wasted?”

John just throws a don’t-you-know-it look over his shoulder.

“Is he all right?” Melissa asks as Travis turns back to her.

“I don’t know,” he says and glances back over his shoulder.

“You can go talk to him,” Melissa offers, smiling. “I won’t be offended.”

“Oh, I…” Travis says. He looks back over his shoulder and watches John sidle up to the bar with a pretty miserable expression on his face, like he’s sitting in something wet. Looking back at Melissa, Travis takes a breath. “Yeah… I guess I should.” He finds himself genuinely troubled by John’s demeanor, but pleased with the fact that this total stranger understand his loyalties.

“We’ll talk another time,” Melissa says hopefully.

Travis is more content leaving the conversation at this spot, anyway—no numbers exchanged, no last names—just on a good note and a hope that they might meet again by chance. He knows they will. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’ll see ya’ around.” He gets up from his stool.

Melissa gets her purse, finishes her drink. She holds out her hand and Travis takes it. She lets him hold it for a moment just longer than is polite. Leaning in, “I’ll come find you at one of your shows.”

Releasing her hand, Travis offers, “Maybe next time we can talk about something interesting.” She smiles. “Philistine.” And then she turns and walks away. Travis watches her leave and heads for the booth, grabbing an empty chair on his way, and slides it up to the table, straddling it. Nick looks somewhat concerned by John’s demeanor as well, but Chris and Karen are pretty engrossed in their conversation.

“You wanna’ shoot some darts?” Travis asks John.

Reaching down to the floor, John picks up the box he brought in and replies, “No. But let’s go play this.”

Travis looks at the box more carefully now and sees it is John’s chess set. “Okay.” He and John get up and make their way to an empty spot towards the far end of the bar.

“Are we talkin’ about it, or hoping it goes away?”

“Well,” John starts, setting up pawns, “We’re movin’ to Atlanta—the band. Eric found a place, and I think we all agree that moving there right now is the best thing for the band. Bigger gigs, more money.”

Travis furrows his brow and begins setting up his own pieces. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s not,” John agrees with a sniff. “Actually, after listening to Eric and Leo, I really have to agree that they’re right.”

“Well, we’ll all be sad to see you go, but Atlanta’s not that far away.”

John nods his head in agreement.

“So…” Travis asks, lingering, figuring there is more.

It takes John a moment to think about what he wants to say. When he sets his last piece down he looks Travis in the eyes and says, “When I told Rachel, she dumped me.” John pulls in his lips and sighs through his nose.

Disappointed immediately, Travis shakes his head. “Well, shit,” he says quietly. John just nods and drinks from his beer as Travis finishes setting up his side of the board. “She seem pretty sure? Maybe she’s just overreacting, you know?”

“Well, hell. It doesn’t matter, does it? If she can’t back me up on this…”

Travis nods, “Yeah, that’s true.” He waits a beat. “You could always kill her.”

John sighs again and moves his queen’s pawn out two spaces, but he breaks a small smile.