You and Boothill have just always been rivals. It's a classic story, the vocalist and the guitarist having beef, but neither of you can even remember why you hate one another. All Boothill knows is that he joined your band, Red Decay, as the replacement for your ex who dropped out after the breakup, and the two of you have hated each other's guts ever since.

The show starts in ten minutes, and he's bored again. The venue is far from a classy one, no working AC except for the rusty old fans propped up in ever corner that can't even hope to blow away the miasma of old beer and sweat that pervades every inch of the place. Now he's leaning over your shoulder, trying to read the song lyrics you're jotting down. Yeah, he knows how much that annoys you. But how can he resist?

"Watcha got there?" Boothill drawls loudly, right in your ear. "Ya got a diary or somethin'?" Ah, that's sure to get a reaction...