Clive Webb (
goodbyesandusky) wrote2006-04-15 09:28 pm
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Clive nudged the door open, "I'd say 'pardon the mess' but really there isn't one. S'what happens when I haven't got much to my name."
It was true, the room was small and surprisingly uncluttered, there was a stack of CDs on the bedside table, a few notebooks under it, out of the way, and a cardboard box overflowing with fabric scraps over by the treadle sewing machine he'd borrowed from Bar, other than that though it looked more or less like a normal economy-class hotel room.
It was true, the room was small and surprisingly uncluttered, there was a stack of CDs on the bedside table, a few notebooks under it, out of the way, and a cardboard box overflowing with fabric scraps over by the treadle sewing machine he'd borrowed from Bar, other than that though it looked more or less like a normal economy-class hotel room.
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The guitar is slung over his back and he picks up his shirt from the bed.
'Thanks for letting me use your shower. I'll see you, Clive.'
A last grin and he quietly lets himself out.