Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,4
out flat, and several smaller pillows, as well as a few bags of chips and pretzels and an ice-filled bucket of water bottles.
“Pick a spot anywhere you’d like,” Dallas offered and plunked himself down on a corner of the sleeping bag with one elbow resting on the beanbag pillow. I watched him pack a six-inch brass saxophone-shaped pipe with dope and then hold a lighter to it.
“That's a cool looking pipe,” I commented, then took a seat near him and leaned on the pillow to partially face him with my legs tucked under me.
“It was a gift to my father from someone he works with,” Dallas explained.
“I can't imagine ever getting high with my old man,” I said and chuckled. “In fact, he kicked me out of the house because he kept catching me getting stoned in my room.”
“Really? That sucks,” Dallas said and sucked in a deep hit off the pipe before he passed it over to me. “It's just dope. No big deal.”
“I know, but my father made it sound like he'd found crack or heroin in my room.” I took a hit off it before I gave it back to him. “It wasn’t just about the pot though. He wasn’t a fan of me in general and thought I should be doing more with my life beyond music, which he considered to be a hobby.”
“How old were you when you left home?” Dallas asked.
“Eighteen,” I said. “Once he realized I wasn’t college material, he couldn’t be bothered with me, so as soon as I was legal to move out, I did.”
“Siblings?”
“Yeah, I have a much younger brother—like twelve years younger, who my mother dotes on like you wouldn’t believe,” I admitted. “He’s her favorite without a doubt, but I wish him luck. He’s going to need it in that household.”
“I grew up backstage at concerts and saw more shit go down before I hit puberty than most kids see in their lifetime,” Dallas said. “I was also smoking and drinking and getting into trouble before I really knew what I was doing.”
“That sounds so cool to be around everything going on backstage,” I said. “I bet you've met all kinds of famous people.”
“I shouldn't glamorize it because it wasn't like that at all. My father worked his ass off—filthy, endless hours with lots of time on the road. Sure, he knows everyone, all the big names in the business, which, I guess, means I sort of know them too.” Dallas slumped down a bit more to rest against the big pillow and passed the pipe over to me again.
The dope was potent and I was already feeling the effects of a nice buzz that had my bones feeling like limp noodles. I reclined next to him and pointed my head to the stars in the sky above us.
“You want another hit?” Dallas asked me.
“No, I'm good,” I said. “I'm already pretty baked.”
“Yeah, this shit is good stuff.” He set the pipe in between us and lay down to rest his head on the pillow beside mine.
We were quiet for a while, each lost in our own thoughts, until I asked, “Do you hang out up here every night?”
“Pretty much,” he answered. “I usually wait here until my dad finishes work for the day and then we can go home.”
“Not much of a view,” I commented.
“What are you talking about?” he protested. “You can see the stars, the planes coming and going from LAX, and the lights coming on inside the buildings around us. What's not to like about that? Sometimes, I'll lie up here, close my eyes, and try and decipher all the different sounds I can hear.”
I closed my eyes and shut out all the noise, then shifted my focus onto the various sounds I heard instead. When I did it that way, I could hear two cats fighting and even the crickets in the bushes behind the line of trailers, in addition to the passing cars and the rhythmic whooshing of the traffic on the main road two streets over.
“This would be a great place to write music,” I said after a while.
“I suppose it would,” Dallas said.
I rolled my head on the pillow and glanced at Dallas. His eyes were partially closed, and his head tipped back to extend his throat. I watched the gentle bob of his Adam's apple and then snapped my gaze away. Why in the hell was I paying attention to a dude like that? It had to be the