whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

'You're right. My bad. Next time you leave an article of clothing at my place, that's what we'll do.' The words are out before he's realized the implications, and it's with a flustered inhale that Remi frowns down at the table, pushing around a bit of spilled sugar.

"How could it, with that flop of hair?" Remi wonders, glancing across the table through mostly dry curls. 'Absolutely not.' Pushing the mug of coffee toward the side of the table where the waitress can come and fetch it, he gives his head a shake. "I will make you a proper coffee back at mine."

Rolling his eyes though not bothering to reply—he's not up to the mental or verbal challenge of replying to that particular comment—he slides out of the booth, careful not to knock the coffee off the edge. Glancing down at the raised hand, Remi frowns, before offering the man before him an incredulous (and honestly, a bit offended) look. "You're kidding. You were at my show. It was my name on the sandwich boards." Planning on standing there until he got an answer, it was only a polite 'scuse me loves from the waitress as she tries to bus their table that sends Remi toward the door.

ThE RoCkStAr