(PDA)

Night muffled.
I was drunk, reeking of cheap whiskey and wracked by a betrayal still fresh in memory and chest. He left for an extreme attitude.

As I had enough courage to crime of passion took the old guitar and stumbled to the crossroads farther in hopes of selling his soul in exchange for turning one of his smash hit musical compositions. Success to rub in the face of multiple losses accumulated and miserable that it planted a pair of horns on his forehead. Fame, money and women.

Woke up the next day with his face stuck in the ground, his head bursting with pain, dry mouth, making for a taste of rust and dirty shirt all stained with vomit. His soul was still his.
There was no claim that this support agreement. Their songs were very bad.