(One rock show later)
Shiro sulked into his apartment. He had sucked. Thrown off the stage, denting his guitar. Walking home, getting splashed by a car passing by, mugged for his money and his guitar, and life pretty much sucked.
He didn't really have any friends except his band, and they were all too stoned to notice him.
Shiro fell on the couch with a thump. He needed a mate, or at least a really, really good friend.
"Ughhhh..." he sighed and looked at his room.
For a rocker, it was pretty clean. A couple cloths on the floor, some textbooks on a table, a coffee mug he had made this morning but had forgotten to drink... everything read single. Posters covered the peeling paint on his walls, his air conditioning had given up an unwinnable battle with itself and had broken. With winter coming on, he wouldn't need it, but still.
He curled up on his mattress in the middle of the floor, set his player on to a CD of Enya and Lifehouse (something he would never do if there was someone else in the room) and imagine of a beutiful girl who would understand him.
A rocker/nerd. A game designer.
He slowly fell asleep in is melancholy stupor.