Patrick stood clutching his guitar-case and duffle-bag, gazing blankly at the buildings trying to hide among the trees. Typical summer camp at its campiest, just like he always saw on TV; he made a face, turning to look at his mother’s worried expression.*
Patrick was tired; that kind of tired where you just stand around stupidly, blinking at the tiny room with its tinier beds, while your band-mates staggered about, throwing down their bags and rooting around for toothbrushes and maybe a change of clothes. Or in Pete’s case, actual underwear he’d put on because he was going commando under his tight jeans at that very moment.*
Patrick rubbed his nose as he put down the guitar and snagged Pete’s loose notes; he was safely hidden away in Joe’s basement, forcing some words and music together. He had deliberately chosen to spend some time in Joe’s house, instead of Pete’s, because he couldn’t bother with all the questions. Really, he just couldn’t.* Sequel to Circa 2001.
Once upon a time, in the middle of the night when the band had a rare night off on the road, Joe said, “Patrick. You gotta come over here.”*
Two Heads Are (Sometimes) Better Than One: The Pete&Patrick Variety Show. VH1, Wednesdays, 9pm (ET) Four out of five stars.*
Pete was in what people called a fucking bad mood. He was glowering. It takes energy to glower in the furnace-like heat that was Orlando’s shimmering summer, but he was doing it, alright, and doing it good. It was really Patrick’s fault. After the show last night, when they were sleeping (well, he didn’t get to sleep) Patrick had kicked him mercilessly; stolen all the covers (and one of his pillows); and had the AC turned to arctic levels.*
Andie woke up to the sunlight shining right in her eyes. That was so fucking wrong. Her room didn’t even face east, so what the…*