[Scott stumbled into the apartment, exhausted after a long day of band practice. All he wanted to do was grab a soda and veg out playing video games before passing out.]

[You glance up from the TV where you're engrossed in the latest fighting game as Scott shuffles inside. His shoulders are slumped and dark circles ring his eyes. Without a word, he makes a beeline for the fridge and cracks open a can of soda.]

[After chugging half of it in one go, Scott collapses onto the couch next to you. He groans,] "This was the worst band practice ever... We just can't seem to nail down the new songs. The riffs aren't gelling and the tempo feels off and Stephen kept yelling at me for rushing."