Neal and David in a German McDonalds.
"I want a pizza." Neal said to me, leaning in so close that I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. "I want a pizza with olives and capsicum and mushrooms."
I sighed, resisting the urge to pull away from Neal, who had rested his head on my shoulder, and also holding back on trying to explain to him that you couldn't get pizza at McDonalds, no matter what country it was. Even if I had wanted to say it, Neal was too high to understand anything that was said to him, so it would've been a totally pointless effort.
Fleetingly I wondered where James and Brian had escaped to. And why had I been left babysitting Neal? It was always me who had to do the dirty work - get a hungover James out of bed in the mornings, shepherd a hyper-active Neal out of a pub when he got too rowdy, and I always had to - actually, I didn't really have to do anything when it came to Brian. He kept to himself a lot of the time.
But still, having to look after Neal and James was bad enough.
"I want a fucking pizzzaaaa..." Neal whined into my shoulder. I grimaced as an old woman in front of us in the queue turned around and glared at me. I tried to give her a smile as I said meekly, "Das tut mir leid. Meines freundes ist sehr krank..."
She frowned at me and turned away, muttering something in German about 'stupid foreigners'. I sighed quietly. Neal, on the other hand, only became louder.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?! DID YOU ORDER MY PIZZA!? I'VE GOT THE MUNCHIES!" He screeched, attracting raised eyebrows from some people, frowns from others, and a glare from me.
"I told her that you were a fucking lunatic, Neal. So shut the fuck up before we get arrested. And you're not getting pizza. We're in a German McDonalds - they don't have any motherfucking pizza." I hissed, grabbing his arm and squeezing it as hard as I could, feeling oddly satisfied as Neal yelped with pain. At least he could feel something, even if it weren't the mortifying embarrassment that I was feeling.
Suddenly Neal had punched me in the face and we were scuffling on the floor, people dodging clear of us as we rolled about, hitting each other as hard as we could. Neal was simply doing it because he always liked a good punch-up when he was high. I was doing it because I had finally snapped. I was sick of being the responsible one. I was sick of looking after him when he didn't even appreciate it!
I threw my fist into his mouth, grinning as he turned his head to spit out some blood before his fist collided with my glasses and shattered them (and what felt like my nose). Rather abruptly two big men had pulled us apart and were shouting at us in German. I was too pissed to even bother trying to understand what they were saying, so I simply went limp and then the man holding me let me go. I looked around the room. Several people were gaping at us, open mouthed like they were trying to catch flies or something. To my left we'd knocked over several chairs and there was soft-drink spilt all over the floor. I saw something else, and I squinted as I bent over to get a better look. For a moment I didn't recognise the scrap of twisted black metal on the floor, but then my brain started working again and I realised that they were my glasses - and they were beyond repair.
I picked them up, being careful not to cut myself of the jagged edges of the glass still stuck in the frames, folding them up as best I could and slipping them into my pocket. Then I turned to Neal, still being held by the other man. I took a step towards him, and the other man reached out, almost as if he thought I was going to try and hit Neal again. I wasn't though. I got as close to Neal as the man would allow me, his hand on my chest, holding me back from attacking my friend. He was bleeding from his mouth, the blood almost the same colour as his hair, too red and too bright to bear looking at for too long. Pupils dilated Neal just leered at me, still struggling against the man holding him like he wanted to keep fighting, too high to realise when to stop.
The whole room went quiet, like they were expecting something important to happen. It didn't though. I just lent close to Neal so he could feel my hot breath on his face, whispering, "I quit. You can find a new bass player - or a babysitter. Whatever you fucking need..."
And then I walked out of the McDonalds, leaving Neal to find his own way back to the hotel.
I sighed, resisting the urge to pull away from Neal, who had rested his head on my shoulder, and also holding back on trying to explain to him that you couldn't get pizza at McDonalds, no matter what country it was. Even if I had wanted to say it, Neal was too high to understand anything that was said to him, so it would've been a totally pointless effort.
Fleetingly I wondered where James and Brian had escaped to. And why had I been left babysitting Neal? It was always me who had to do the dirty work - get a hungover James out of bed in the mornings, shepherd a hyper-active Neal out of a pub when he got too rowdy, and I always had to - actually, I didn't really have to do anything when it came to Brian. He kept to himself a lot of the time.
But still, having to look after Neal and James was bad enough.
"I want a fucking pizzzaaaa..." Neal whined into my shoulder. I grimaced as an old woman in front of us in the queue turned around and glared at me. I tried to give her a smile as I said meekly, "Das tut mir leid. Meines freundes ist sehr krank..."
She frowned at me and turned away, muttering something in German about 'stupid foreigners'. I sighed quietly. Neal, on the other hand, only became louder.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?! DID YOU ORDER MY PIZZA!? I'VE GOT THE MUNCHIES!" He screeched, attracting raised eyebrows from some people, frowns from others, and a glare from me.
"I told her that you were a fucking lunatic, Neal. So shut the fuck up before we get arrested. And you're not getting pizza. We're in a German McDonalds - they don't have any motherfucking pizza." I hissed, grabbing his arm and squeezing it as hard as I could, feeling oddly satisfied as Neal yelped with pain. At least he could feel something, even if it weren't the mortifying embarrassment that I was feeling.
Suddenly Neal had punched me in the face and we were scuffling on the floor, people dodging clear of us as we rolled about, hitting each other as hard as we could. Neal was simply doing it because he always liked a good punch-up when he was high. I was doing it because I had finally snapped. I was sick of being the responsible one. I was sick of looking after him when he didn't even appreciate it!
I threw my fist into his mouth, grinning as he turned his head to spit out some blood before his fist collided with my glasses and shattered them (and what felt like my nose). Rather abruptly two big men had pulled us apart and were shouting at us in German. I was too pissed to even bother trying to understand what they were saying, so I simply went limp and then the man holding me let me go. I looked around the room. Several people were gaping at us, open mouthed like they were trying to catch flies or something. To my left we'd knocked over several chairs and there was soft-drink spilt all over the floor. I saw something else, and I squinted as I bent over to get a better look. For a moment I didn't recognise the scrap of twisted black metal on the floor, but then my brain started working again and I realised that they were my glasses - and they were beyond repair.
I picked them up, being careful not to cut myself of the jagged edges of the glass still stuck in the frames, folding them up as best I could and slipping them into my pocket. Then I turned to Neal, still being held by the other man. I took a step towards him, and the other man reached out, almost as if he thought I was going to try and hit Neal again. I wasn't though. I got as close to Neal as the man would allow me, his hand on my chest, holding me back from attacking my friend. He was bleeding from his mouth, the blood almost the same colour as his hair, too red and too bright to bear looking at for too long. Pupils dilated Neal just leered at me, still struggling against the man holding him like he wanted to keep fighting, too high to realise when to stop.
The whole room went quiet, like they were expecting something important to happen. It didn't though. I just lent close to Neal so he could feel my hot breath on his face, whispering, "I quit. You can find a new bass player - or a babysitter. Whatever you fucking need..."
And then I walked out of the McDonalds, leaving Neal to find his own way back to the hotel.