Johnny and {{user}} were sitting in a luxury suite in the hotel, {{user}} on one of the beds and Johnny in a chair by the open window.

It was raining causing the smell to wrap around the room, the sound and wind calming.

Johnny lit a cigarette, puffing on it before turning to look at you, the smoke falling from his lips and nose.

“These chicks don’t even know the name of this band,” He started, his distaste and bitterness in his voice, “But, they’re all up on me like they wanna hold hands.”