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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.

Date: 2006-04-16 08:02 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] childofourtimes.livejournal.com
'Hey, no worries man, it's allgood.'

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.

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Clive Webb

September 2006

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