Page 10 of Your Rhythm
Lately, he manages at least the first of those three on an almost daily basis.
After satisfying himself, if not me, he goes to lean on the arm of the couch and misses by a few inches, falling forwards over the neck of his guitar and narrowly saving himself from a face plant.
“Fucking hell, Ace. You’re pathetic.”
“Hey,” he chuckles, clearly amused with his lack of depth perception, “at least I’m here.”
True. At least there’s that.
The door opens and JP slips into the room, doing the same boot stomping routine as me and letting out a string of expletives like only a born and raised Quebecois can.
“Osti de câlice de tabarnak! Il fait tellement froid, là!My hands are gonna fucking freeze right off, man.”
Something about the cold here makes everybody swear more. I don’t think I’ve heard JP go more than three sentences without dropping some kind of profanity since January. Being the band’s little ray of sunshine that he is though, he’s usually got one of his huge-ass JP grins plastered across his face as he cheerfully curses the shit out of everything.
“It’s March already,” he groans, dusting the snow off the ridiculous trapper hat he’s always wearing. “It’s supposed to be springtime, eh?”
“You know what they say,” I tell him, “in like a lion, out like a lamb.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“Or maybe you don’t know what they say,” I amend. “It’s an expression.”
He rolls his eyes and mutters, “Anglos. You guys say the weirdest shit.”
“Where’s Cole?” Ace mutters.
“Probably hanging around Roxanne’s cafe, as usual,” answers JP.
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought they called it off again?”
“Maybe. Who knows?” JP lets out a yawn. “They’re like a broken light switch, those two— always off, always on.”
“Broken light switch...” Ace mumbles, hands straying across the fret board again.
“If you’re thinking that’s a good idea for a song,” I tell him, “it’s not.”
He strums a few sullen notes in answer. JP pulls a ham sandwich out of god knows where. I spend the next few minutes listening to him ‘mmm’ appreciatively after every single bite as Ace continues with his discordant serenade. Cole’s entrance into the room is a welcome interruption.
“Merde,” he swears, his dark eyes hidden behind fogged-up glasses, “that’s a cold one.”
“As a witch’s teat!” JP shouts around a mouthful of ham.
I shoot him a look and he returns it with an aloof tilt of his chin.
“It’s an expression,” he says slowly. “Maybe you don’t know what they say.”
I just shake my head and tell him he’s an idiot.
“I won’t deny that,mon gars, I won’t deny that.” JP turns to Cole. “How’s Roxy?”
Cole grimaces and stomps away to his bass, slinging it over his shoulder before taking a seat in the chair next to me and starting to tune the strings.
“Trouble in paradise?” I prompt.
All I get for an answer is a resentful, “Fuck off.”
I get up from my armchair, sliding my sticks out of my pocket and heading over to the drum kit set up in a corner of the room.
