Angie was traveling in the other car, making my ride an especially lonely one. Plus, Chris was really making me regret ever confiding in him about what happened that morning. He wouldn’t stop bringing up how awful Angie must’ve felt when the groupie had shown up at my door. "You have to admit, what happened this morning was bloody awful. A really bad thing. Look at it from Angie's perspective." Chris, the incessant voice of reason, picked up an issue of Billboard magazine and began flipping through it. I shifted in my seat, staring out the limo window as we closed in on Manhattan, the skyscrapers getting larger and larger in my field of vision. How had things gone from incredible to an utter disaster in such a short amount of time? I had blooming whiplash from my life. I'd run it over in my head dozens of times after she'd left my room refusing to so much as kiss me goodbye. I wouldn't have been happy if I'd been in her shoes, but it wasn't as if I had any control over it.
