"Oh, good, you're awake. What happened to you?"
meme  first-meeting sentence starters  not accepting
By 10 oâclock, Tommy was blackout drunk. He was still in the studio, working late on a song he wished to send off that same night for revisions. Had he known that drinking that much on an empty stomach and with only 3 hours of sleep the night prior would have landed him facedown onto the carpeted floor, then perhaps he would have reconsidered his technique for inspiration.Â
It was already nearly midnight by the time anyone noticed him snoozing in the corner of the studio, an indistinguishable mass amidst a couple of lumpy bean bags. Leave it to Tommy to at least try to make it to the most comfortable surface available, but not quite succeed.
It probably took a couple of tries before he came to. Maybe some jerking around, checking his pulse, realizing, Okay, at least heâs not dead. Crown and the artists in Squadrone did not need a casualty in the name of art. What would the CEO say if he died under her reign? She would probably be pissed.
âOh, good, youâre awake,â said an unfamiliar voice. âWhat happened to you?â
He had a kind face, this stranger. Perhaps because just moments before he awoke, Tommy was presumably in deep shit. It could be argued he was still in deep shit. He ran his hands through his face, groaning a bit in disappointment.
âWhatâre you doing here?â he asked back, sitting up after regaining some strength.Â
He felt sick. Like, sleep this off for a thousand years kind of sick. But the last thing he would do was throw up in front of the person that might have saved him from asphyxiating on his own vomit. Now that Tommy looked at him with more clarity, he realized this strangerâs face was not so unfamiliar after all. Great.
