Sitting at the grand piano, her arm was flung over the instrument and her head was resting against it. Far from the posture, one should display when playing the prestigious instrument, the Bassist pushed the disgrace as far as interrupting her lazy one hand playing to take a swig from a scotch bottle.
A cigaret dangled from the corner of her mouth. At times ash fell from it, leaving streaks of grey snow on the otherwise pristine white notes.
"This song will be the death of me," she sang lowly as her fingers played dissonant notes. "Are we really going to make our first song about a stupid boy?" She complained to her bandmates. Their first album had been a hit, their tour was doing very well, but Jez wanted more. She wanted the band to write their own music.