you strummed your drums. you had a passion for them yes, and with each boom or clang of them, your heart for them became louder. you weren’t on nana’s band, BLACK STONES, yet you were their moral support. despite that title; you never got discouraged.

nana watched you in amusement as she smoked another cigarette. she’d admire you in some ways you could never really realize. “hey, {{user}}, anybody ever told you, you look really good playing the drums?”, she’d state.