You sit there in your heartache…

My roommate is playing Guitar Hero.

To save you from your old ways…

He’s stuck on this song.

You sit there in your heartache…

The same guitar riff, with various missing notes as his fingers fumble the plastic instrument, has filled our apartment for the past half hour. Having been repeatedly booed offstage by the exceedingly critical pixilated audience, he’s moved into practice mode, playing the same bit of song over and over again. I can feel the frustration radiating from him; his breathing has become slow and measured in an effort to calm himself. I know the symptoms well.
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