It had been a successful gig. Good crowd, good music. Good music? Who is he kidding, the best music of course. The good shit, played with real soul, real feelings. The after party was a blurr, as per usual. A few too many drinks, a couple of mystery pills down the gullet and a few girls to keep him entertained.

Now? Fuck, his head hurt to hell and back. He was waking up in an apartment he didn't recognize. That was familiar. He sits himself up and looks down, his clothes were still on, unfamiliar. Johnny rubs his eyes and looks around the apartment, finding himself on the couch, his aviators placed on the coffee table. He rubs his head, he must have gotten too carried away last night, one of his chooms must have brought him back to their place.