FIXED GEARS && BROKEN HEARTS -open-

[BRADLEY WADE GLENN]

( AND I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN ATTEST TO MUCH )
BUT I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE

<sup>Chicago wasn't exactly the place that Bradley thought he would end up. According to his dream he would end up in California, drinking in sunlight, and taking in the aura of success. Of course, not everyone in the world could attain their dreams. Bradley was one of those people who made it, then lost it, made it again, then lost it for good. This was something that Bradley tried not to let bother him, but on occasion it was difficult. He would find random things during his week that would remind him of the life he left behind or was trying to leave behind. Sometimes Bradley found himself imagining that he did keep his dream. Many people have stopped him before, asking what happened to his career in music. The Gulf War happened to Bradley's career in music. After that he just found that it was a lot harder for him to be who he wanted to be.

Out dated music from the early 70s blared through the tiny speakers of Bradley's old clock radio. There was a little static to it, but none that Bradley couldn't ignore. He lay on his bed, wiggling his feet to the beat of the music. His hands rested behind his head on his pillow and his long legs were crossed at the ankles. Bradley had spent the better part of the last hour laying in his bed, listening to what people deemed now as "oldies". Bradley's lips twitched into a slight frown as he thought of that. People were so quick to disregard older music. To Bradley the music didn't seem that old. Maybe that was because he hated thinking of himself as old and most of the stuff he heard had come out when he was a little boy. It was sobering to think about how the years had passed and what was new has become old. What's old has become abandoned.

Bradley sat up, glancing out the window of the bedroom of his apartment. The sun was beginning to set and he hadn't done anything all day really except eat, sleep, and listen to music. He stretched his legs out, his bare toes spreading. Bradley sighed dramatically as he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood. He stretched his arms in the air, wincing at the sound of bones creaking and popping. That was a sure sign of old age right there. Bradley was a forty year old wreck of a man. He was more of a child at heart and he never wanted to admit that he was as old as he was. What good would giving in to it? Bradley figured the quicker he admitted that he was actually old... the closer he was to having to go six feet under. Bradley wasn't content with that thought.

The bad thing about being semi-retired was that he had nothing to do. Clubbing was the most exciting thing that he could think of. Usually when he went to certain clubs there were people who insisted they take pictures of him or with him. Some people still knew what good music sounded like. Bradley walked toward his dresser and puled out a pair of thin black socks and pulled them on. He then reached for his black shoes and slipped them on. Bradley wore an old flannel shirt and a pair of jeans which have obviously been worn a lot over the years. grabbed his keys, pulling the door to his apartment open and stepping out. The door shut behind Bradley as he began to walk toward his motorcycle. Popular opinion generally showed that men Bradley's age didn't need to be riding motorcycles, but he didn't care. He loved it.

Bradley cranked up his cycle, shifted it in gear, and rolled off. The club wasn't all that far from where he lived. It was just a few blocks down from the apartment complex. After parking his motorcycle in a safe place Bradley walked toward the entrance of the club where he was immediately granted access. Bradley walked through the crowd of people toward the bar. He tugged at his sleeve as he motioned for the bartender to come over. Hook me up with some of that wine you got back there, my good man. He said with a nod. Bradley had long quit drinking beer. He had moved on to various wines and sometimes vodka if he were really having a bad day.

The bartender returned shortly, handing Bradley a glass with dark red liquid in it. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip. Bradley lowered the glass back down to the wood of the bar and glanced around the club. It had been overtaken by young people. Bradley was sure half the kids in there had to be below the legal drinking age. He supposed people didn't much care about that anymore.

( T A G G E D ) OPEN! :]
( W O R D S ) 0 8 3 3
( L Y R I C S ) FIXED GEARS AND BROKEN HEARTS BY BUTCH WALKER
( N O T E S ) ANYONE?!
( C R E D ) BROOKE FROM CAUTION</sup>

[MIMI 'SKITTZ' DELAURIO]

Skittz was having a good day. True, she’d been working all day, but she was actually one of those lucky people who enjoyed their day jobs. Sure, the muscles in her back were way past tense, and she’d been staring so long her eyes ached. But she’d made some sweet money on custom work, and what was even better, she’d finally finished the sleeve she’d been working on for months. Normally finishing a piece kind of bummed her out, but Hugo, the huge, hairy, teddy bear of a biker was already planning a sleeve for the other arm, so her fun was far from over.

She was already planning the work out in her head. Hugo was a traditionalist, so probably a half-naked girl or two, or maybe something vaguely religious, a cross, or the Virgin Mary. Maybe even a gypsy girl and dagger, like they had considered for the first job. It would be a while before they were ready to actually put needle to skin, but the planning was half the fun. Drawing up drafts, changing them again and again, wanting to kill him because after it al he decided the first one was best after all, then going through it all again as they came up with some new idea to incorporate.

It was what she lived for. Sometimes, on her bad days, literally.

But when the end of her day came, and she snapped off her black latex gloves and packed away her gun and the tubes of ink, she was also glad it was over. She was tired, in that I’ve-worked –hard-and now-I –want-to-unwind-before-crashing sort of way. Grab a beer or two, maybe meet up with some friends, or meet someone new...have a little fun. There was a club near the shop she’d been planning on checking out, maybe she’d head over there and see if it really was as good as everyone said.

Snagging her messenger bag and leather jacket from the break room, she waved goodbye to her boss and head out the door to her beat-up surplus jeep, the bell jangling cheerfully over the door. She figured she’d dump her stuff in her car, keeping her cell, cash and keys just in case she had too much to drive and take a cab. She was no angel, but she’d rather not die with a face full of asphalt.

In no time at all, she was nearing the club, her hot pink Doc Martins sounding softly against the concrete and her short black skirt swishing around her knees. She’d left her hoodie in her car, letting her bright orange t-shirt show off her tattooed arms in all their glory. She knew she turned heads, though mostly just because she stood out in a crowd, and not because of any astounding beauty. But still, she liked to use what she had, and like most girls, she enjoyed the attention.

She winked at the burly bouncer at the door, giving him the quick once over. He was hot, in a hulkish sort of way, but she wasn’t one to complain about a little extra muscle. He waved her in with a leer, not even bothering checking her id, not that it would have done her much good. She was still a year short of legal, but she’d never let it slow her down before.

Scanning the crowded room slowly, she headed over to the bar, content to grab a beer and people-watch for a while. Sliding onto an empty stool, she tapped her finger on the bartop and smiled at the bartender. “Corona, heavy on the lime.”

She tapped out a soft beat with her hands on the bar as she waited, glancing around before her gaze caught on the older guy nearby, and she tilted her head curiously. He seemed familiar to her, and while she’d normally avoid saying it to anyone in a bar – it was such a clichéd pick-up – this time her curiosity got the better of her.

“Do I know you? You seem familiar.”

[BRADLEY WADE GLENN]

( AND I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN ATTEST TO MUCH )
BUT I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE

<sup>Not many people went to a bar to order wine. Bradley figured that was just another indicator of age. Not that Bradley had become any more sophisticated since turning forty. Really it was more of the fact that he knew that with alcohol he was more likely to get drunk enough to do something completely idiotic. With wine he was only likely to do something half idiotic. Bradley sipped at the bitter drink, wincing at the taste. It was no Merlot, but it would do. He was used to having the upper part of everything when it came to bar drinks. Bradley had at least enjoyed that part of his former fame. Those nights where he could walk into a bar and order water and they would serve him with Perrier or some other foreign, expensive water.

Bradley's attention was diverted from his thoughts when a young red-head sat next to him at the bar. Now Bradley usually tried to keep his interests in his own age range. There was something about the younger girls, though. In a way they made Bradley feel younger himself. He was sure most of them probably thought he was just an old fart who danced like he had been shot in the leg. Actually, the first thing Bradley noticed about the girl was her tattoos. Bradley was a huge fan of tattoos. There was a tattoo on Bradley representing every band he had ever been in as well as others with more involved stories. He had two rather colorful arms full of tattoos and even plenty on his back. In no way was Bradley ashamed of his tattoos. He figured if his body was his temple, then he was free to decorate it anyway he wanted.

The girl's order made him want to laugh, though for purposes of not looking like an asshole he held it in. Bradley took another sip of his wine. He also had no room to talk. Technically her order was much more bar-like than his own. Carona had never really been Bradley's favorite. He could remember an ex-girlfriend or three back who drank Carona. She loved Carona so much that she drank sooo much of it and got sooo drunk that she burnt his Malibu beach house to the ground. Bradley still wasn't sure how that had happened and he didn't suppose he would ever get the true story. Bradley frowned at the thought. He missed his Malibu beach house. He missed being able to walk in his back yard and wiggle his toes in the pacific ocean. It was an absolutely beautiful, dreamlike thought.

A smirk curled on Bradley's lips as the younger girl addressed him. She couldn't be that young. Bradley figured she was at least between the ages of 19 and 22 based off her appearance, though sometimes appearances could be deceiving. Still, that was at least half his age... or more. Oh well. It wasn't like Bradley was just going to hightail it to the bedroom with her or anything. Nothing wrong with a little bar talk. Perhaps you do know me, Bradley answered with a small shrug. Maybe you can tell me where you think you know me from. Bradley looked away from her a moment to take another sip of his wine. He figured that he would have remembered her if he had seen her before, but maybe his memory was beginning to slip.

Sometimes Bradley didn't really remember faces and sometimes it was names he didn't remember. He drew his brows together in thought. If anything he figured he's at least be able to remember her hair color, but as far as he could remember he had never met anyone with that shade. Bradley turned his gaze back to her, studying the features of her face with his dark eyes in order to spark at least some sort of recognition. Maybe she recognized him from his music days. Bradley didn't even know if his music would have eve reached her generation, though maybe he was wrong. He was one to seriously under rate his own music.

( T A G G E D ) Mimi :]
( W O R D S ) 06 9 9
( L Y R I C S ) FIXED GEARS AND BROKEN HEARTS BY BUTCH WALKER
( N O T E S ) HOPE THAT WASN'T TOO BAD OF A POST XD
( C R E D ) BROOKE FROM CAUTION</sup>

[MIMI 'SKITTZ' DELAURIO]

His cryptic response did nothing to alleviate her burning curiosity, and she decided to play along. Placing her elbow on the bar top and resting her chin on the palm of her hand, she let her hazel-green eyes take him in fully, from his dark, shaggy hair down to his black shoes. The spark of familiarity was still there, but she still couldn’t figure it out. She scanned over the visible tattoos on his arms, immediately discarding the possibility that he had once been a customer at the parlour. She always remembered the art on people, even when it wasn’t her own, and she most definitely didn’t recognize his.

So not from the parlour, but where?

It occurred to her then that she might remember him from some of the darker times in her life when she was screwed up on drugs and jerk boyfriends. A cold shiver went up her spine, the fear and shame over those days momentarily getting the better of her before common-sense kicked in.

No, she’d remember him if that was it. Plus, she was hardly recognizable as the stick-thin, fair-haired blank-skinned addict she’d been back then. The bright hair and tattoos acted as a sort of reverse-camouflage. She doubted her own mother could have recognized her, but then again, her mom was probably two sheets to the wind anyway. Probably didn’t even remember she HAD a daughter.

Hmmmm...

”Honestly, I’m not sure...” she admitted with a slight shrug. Even if she couldn’t figure out then and there, it was going to bug her until she finally placed his face. It would most likely come to her at the most bizarre time in a textbook ‘Duh!’ moment. She could already feel it eating away at her, her mind racing through every random person she could remember to try and place his face. ”Your face just seems familiar, but I don’t know.”

She tapped her chin then shook her head, turning back to her beer in defeat. Taking a swig, something clicked inside her bright-orange head, and she bounced in her seat in victory, narrowly avoiding choking on her beer as she swallowed it down quickly.

”You’re that guy in the band...” she snapped her fingers, trying to remember any names, his OR the band, but they seemed to want to stay lost in her memories. It never failed to surprise her how randomly selective her memory could be, the fickle thing. Sometime it was a steel trap, remembering things with vivid clarity, things that weren’t particularly special, then other times, she’d forget what she had for dinner the night before.

”You had that song...oh, how did it go?” she hummed a few bars, getting the melody mostly right. She was a fair singer, but never took it too seriously having already found her passion. But the simple string of notes brought back long-avoided memories of summer sunshine, long drive in the car, and favourite songs sung at the top of her lungs with no care for anything other than the sheer joy of the moment. A warm smile watching her from the driver’s seat, promising her safety and support, happiness and warm hugs.

Pushing away those happy memories and their contrasting sad emotions, she waved a finger in the general direction of the nearby guy with a grin. ”I loved you guys, my dad used to play your stuff all the time!”

[BRADLEY WADE GLENN]

( AND I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN ATTEST TO MUCH )
BUT I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE

<sup>Bradley didn't know what to say to the girl. He was used to people either knowing him or not knowing him. It was rare that he ran into someone who almost knew him and almost didn't know him. Bradley took another ginger sip of his red wine, waiting on her to decide where she knew him from or if she didn't know him at all. Amazing how things worked out like that sometimes. It was the most odd feeling. Almost like it was the exact opposite of deja vu. Bradley had once heard a George Carlin sketch where he described it as vuja de, the sensation that somehow this has never happened before.

Placing his wine glass back on the bar, Bradley turned his dark eyes back to her with a wide smile. At least the situation hadn't passed the realm of awkward yet. He wished he had a better wine, a classier wine. It wasn't that he couldn't afford it, just that he had to be a bit more parsimonious than he used to be. He couldn't go about buying 800 dollar bottles of wine. Besides, the bar probably didn't even have any of the good wine. Bradley took another sip when she said that she wasn't sure. There was still no answer, yet at the same time there was an answer. Bradley wasn't sure what was up with his head. He drew in a breath when she reiterated that he seemed familiar but she didn't know. Great.

Bradley raised an eyebrow when she seemed to finally make a connection. He laughed lightly when she announced that he was "that guy in the band." Bradley nodded, I was a guy in a band indeed. Bradley's band years had arguably been both the best and worst parts of his life. While he had a chance to explore his wilder side... he also had to leave behind a girl who he had grown very much in love with. Many of his songs were about Alicia when he first started out. There had been a period of time where he had been unable to let go of her in his mind and in his dreams. Since then no one had ever effected him quite as deeply as she had.

As the girl hummed a few bars of a song that he definitely recognized Bradley nodded. That song had been his alright. It was easy to miss his signature. He loved the rhythm of the late 60s early 70s so that usually appeared in his songs. Bradley laughed, That ain't too surprising. Bradley meant that in reply to her comment about her dad listening to them. I'm glad yer Daddy had a good taste in music. Bradley added a stray wink and a laugh. He took another sip of his wine.

( T A G G E D ) OPEN! :]
( W O R D S ) 0 4 8 8
( L Y R I C S ) FIXED GEARS AND BROKEN HEARTS BY BUTCH WALKER
( N O T E S ) SORRY IT'S SO BAD :[
( C R E D ) BROOKE FROM CAUTION</sup>

[MIMI 'SKITTZ' DELAURIO]

Skittz watched his reactions as she made her guess, the light laugh and nod confirming she was right about him being a well-known musician. He didn’t dispute that the song she hummed was in fact one of his, and she grinned as he proved her right, bouncing in her seat in a little victory dance. Most of the time she was completely random, but it was nice for her poor old brain to kick in and do its job for once. Just to prove that all that bleach and hair dye hadn’t destroyed all of her brain cells, no matter what her co-workers teased.

Truth was, there wasn’t much that ever kept her interested enough to stop her attention wandering, and her work was one of the few things that did. Otherwise she was knowing as being a little unreliable, most definitely not the person you came to if you needed something remembered. No, she was lucky if she remembered when her own birthday was, let alone anyone else’s. But she didn’t really care, as long as the important stuff got done, and her mildly hyper personality meant she’d lived a fairly exiting – albeit short so far – life.

“Yeah, he did,” she agreed, a little sadness in her voice at the thought of her lost father. She’d never really had the chance to work though his death, instead jumping from one bad life choice to another, and while she’d finally started getting things right, his loss was still this big, aching hole in her chest. “We used to blast the music as we drove,” she smiled to herself a little, some of her memories still able to bring a little joy despite the circumstance. “All sorts. Zeppelin, The Stones, The Who, Journey, The Zombies...it was epic. Hours and hours of nothing but the sun, the road and the music,” she chuckled a bit, shaking her head. “Drove my mom crazy,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “She was more of an Abba fan.” She fake-shuddered.

Her mind wandered off a little, sadness growing as she realised she’d never feel that free again, no matter how hard she tried. But she didn’t go out that night with the aim of bringing down complete strangers with her many tales of woe. Tonight was not drowning-her-sorrows drinking, it was having-a-little-fun-after-work drinking. Misery was strictly not allowed, especially with company.

Giving a little shrug and softly clearing her throat, she gave her barmate a smile, abruptly cutting short her dark thoughts and putting on her happy face. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods? Or were you always a Chicago guy?”