* COMADOSER.

——– HE  IS  A  little  disheartened  by  the  dark  nature of  her  retort ,  expression  twisting  into  one  of   malcontentment .  a  little  put  off ,  he  drags  on  his  cigarette –  then  answers .

“ i  like  blue .  just  feels  right .  can’t  lie though ,  i ’ ve  been  influenced  a  tad  by  my  bandmates .  being the  image  man  and  all ,  it  sets  me  apart . ”

  another  short  drag ,  and  he  sits  back ,  as  though  he ’ s  feeling  a  bit  defeated .

“ ‘ fraid  I ’ m  not  being  of  much  help  here ,  sorry  miss . ”

^{_{joan   smiles,   short   and   sharp,   apologizing   for   nothing.   she   feels,   perhaps,   a   pang   of   regret,   his   expression   mirroring   that   of   a   kicked   puppy.   the   same   remorse   she   feels   in   the   hospital,   watching   one   of   her   friends   get   their   stomach   pumped.}}  

^{_{‘   does   it   hurt?   ’   she’s   looking   at   his   hair,   thinking   of   blue.   blue,   like   the   sky.   blue,   like   the   pills   in   her   pocket.   ‘   to   dye   it.   ’}}

* COMADOSER.

“ ‘ Ave  got  a  bit  ov ’  a  distinctive  look  to  me ,  don ’ t  I  ? ”

  ——– HE  QUESTIONS  her  rhetorically ,  coy  smile  illuilluminating  a  somewhat sickly face ,  drawn  features ,  the  faint  suggestion  of  wrinkles  pulling  at  the  corners  of  blue  eyes .

  Thin  column  of  smoke  extends  pensively  from  the  lit  cigarette ,  and  his  left  hand  drums  idly  on  the  table ,  as   though  it  were  trying  to  communicate  with  his  foot .  He  thinks  nothing  of  the former  question  –  Once  or  twice  was  right , and  to  him ,  vehicular  near - homicide  and  law - breaking  are   simply  commonplace parts  of  his  relationship  with  the  man  in  question .

“ Wif ’  the  blue  hair ,  would  be  a  fool  to  be  worried  about  it . No ,  I  don ’ t  mind  being  seen ,  but  on  some  days  I  do .  Depends . ”

^{_{‘   truly,   you’re   the   king   of   evading   answers,   and   washed-out   replies.   ’   her   malaise   finally   seeps   from   her   body   language,   her   tone,   into   her   words.   that   very   specific   cruelty   she   reserves   for   boredom,   boredom   and   uneventful   interviews.   she   feels   no   remorse.   she   never   does.}}  

^{_{‘   why   the   hair,   then?   ’   her   acidic   tongue   is   short-lived,   replaced   once   again   with   the   dull   drone,   leading   one   to   wonder   whether   or   not   it   had   ever   changed.   ‘   why   the blue?   ’}}

* COMADOSER.

 ——– HE  OBLIGES  gratefully ,  taking  the cigarette  and  lighting  it  post - haste ,  tiny  grin  on  his mouth .  Maybe  she ’ s  taken  a  bit  fondly  to  him ?  Though  even  Murdoc ’ s  dates  had  never  looked  quite  so bored .  Really  a  talent  of  hers ,  truly .

“  Oh ,  you  know .  Fell  from  a  tree  in  me youngah ’  years .  I  fink  me  bandmate  hit  m  wif ’  his  car   once  or  twice .  All  these  posters  about  not  drivin ’  drunk   sure  don ’ t  hav ’  hold  on  ‘ im ! ”

  He  itches  for  something  a  little  more  robust than  a  cigarette .  Whisper  ’ chronic  pain ’  in  the  ear  of  a  crooked  doctor ,  and  it  was  amazing  what miracles could  be  worked .

^{_{‘   only   once   or   twice?   ’   she   wonders,   faintly,   if   he’s   on   anything,   a   thought   that   preoccupies   her   for only   a   moment.   of   course   he   is.   she   is.   nearly   everyone   she   interviews   is   smoking,   or   taking,   or   injecting   something.   that’s   why   she   hates   dealing   with   people   in   the   music   business   outside   of   parties,   they’re   always   so   distant.}}

^{_{‘   do   you   ever   worry   about   people   recognizing   you?   or   do   you   like   the   attention?   ’}}

* COMADOSER.

——– THE ARTICLE was about him, of course it was. The magazine had sought him out, requested an interview, offered him some modest compensation, and he’d obliged. With what little he knew about business, he knew publicity was relevant.

“ Yes. ”

  He replies simply, and honestly.

“ ‘Ave had a few hard knocks to the head, yeah. Bit of a scatterbrain. As for where I write my stuff… Well, it happens where it happens. ”

  Upon addressing her former question, he took a final drag on his cigarette and surrendered it to the ashtray between them.

^{_{‘   what   kind   of   knocks?   ’   joan’s   hand   rests   languidly   on   the   tabletop,   pen   laying   beside   it,   a   half-formed   sentence   on   her   lips.   nearby,   agitated   fingers   thrum   through   a notebook,   and   she   can’t   help   but   feel   something   similar   to   annoyance   at   the   jittery, repetitive   noise.}}

^{_{‘   here,   ’   she   reaches   across   the   table,   slender   fingers   offering   the   man   another   cigarette,   a   meaningless   gesture.   ‘   lucky   strike,   if   you’re   wondering.   ’}}

comadoser:

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“ –Wait, what’s this article ‘bout again? ”

   He interrupts her mid-word, shaky fingers gripping the tail end of a cigarette as ash drops to the leg of his jeans. The sound of a shoe tapping on hardwood is heard in the cafe – He’s nervous ticks abound.

   Blue eyes flick between the tape recorder between them, and the paper before her as a pen comes to a halt, ink begins to pool in one spot on the sheet. He curses himself inside his head, wishes he could keep his thoughts on track for more than a few minutes.

^{_{‘   you.   ’   the   woman   watches,   eyes   glazed,   as   the   cigarette   ash   wavers   in   his   grip. she   makes   no   motion   to   hinder   its   fall,   to   prevent   the   sooty   stain   on   the   man’s jeans.   it’s   not   out   of   cruelty,   or   even   fascination,   simply   disinterest.   she’s   going   through   the   motions   at   this   point,   asking   the   questions,   no   attempt   made   to   disguise her   boredom.}}

^{_{‘   are   you   often   distracted?   ’}}