Jeff probably cuts an odd figure as he wanders out of the Grey Gull: barefoot, clothes damp, cradling a guitar close to his chest like it's some precious, living thing to be protected at all costs. It's totally awkward; he really should just sling it over his shoulder, but the thought of letting go just starts him on a catastrophic spiral of what ifs.
What if a hooligan sneaks up from behind him and snatches the guitar off his back? If he was cradling it in his arms, that wouldn't have happened.
What if he's attacked by a bear and the only potential weapon he has is his guitar, but now it's on his back instead of in his hands, so he can't swing it in time to save himself from getting mauled by this rampaging animal?
What if the strap breaks and his guitar falls and one of the strings snap and he can't find another string and then he's lost in an empty town, possibly going crazy, and he can't even play a sick tune unless he fashions a new string out of, what, animal guts? Like they did in the old days? He doesn't have what it takes to kill an animal, let alone gut it and dig around for the best intestine, and even if he did, how could he get it to the right thickness without a ton of trial and error? Only a thousandth of an inch makes the difference between a B string from a high E, and there's no way he'd get that on his first try, so there'd be so much blood on his hands by the time--
Okay. He's spiraling again. Stop. Focus on the basics, the here and now of the situation. Right now he's: 1) lost in a strange, seemingly empty town, like everyone just up and left in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day, but 2) he's not alone, since there was another man in the Gull, so it stands to reason there could be others, and 3) he has no shoes and his clothes are wet, so he really needs to correct that before he can even think to explore the town and the surrounding area. The last thing he needs is to step on a nail and get tetanus, or, like, catch a small cold and then develop pneumonia from wandering around all wet.
Fuck, no, don't think about that! Jeff clutches his guitar even tighter, totally-not-hugging his totally-not-a-safety-blanket as he follows the road towards the Town Square. He looks wide eyed and a little dazed as he takes in his seemingly ordinary surroundings, his expression caught somewhere between confused tourist and terrified prey animal.
DAY 59 (Closed: Raylan)
What if a hooligan sneaks up from behind him and snatches the guitar off his back? If he was cradling it in his arms, that wouldn't have happened.
What if he's attacked by a bear and the only potential weapon he has is his guitar, but now it's on his back instead of in his hands, so he can't swing it in time to save himself from getting mauled by this rampaging animal?
What if the strap breaks and his guitar falls and one of the strings snap and he can't find another string and then he's lost in an empty town, possibly going crazy, and he can't even play a sick tune unless he fashions a new string out of, what, animal guts? Like they did in the old days? He doesn't have what it takes to kill an animal, let alone gut it and dig around for the best intestine, and even if he did, how could he get it to the right thickness without a ton of trial and error? Only a thousandth of an inch makes the difference between a B string from a high E, and there's no way he'd get that on his first try, so there'd be so much blood on his hands by the time--
Okay. He's spiraling again. Stop. Focus on the basics, the here and now of the situation. Right now he's: 1) lost in a strange, seemingly empty town, like everyone just up and left in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day, but 2) he's not alone, since there was another man in the Gull, so it stands to reason there could be others, and 3) he has no shoes and his clothes are wet, so he really needs to correct that before he can even think to explore the town and the surrounding area. The last thing he needs is to step on a nail and get tetanus, or, like, catch a small cold and then develop pneumonia from wandering around all wet.
Fuck, no, don't think about that! Jeff clutches his guitar even tighter, totally-not-hugging his totally-not-a-safety-blanket as he follows the road towards the Town Square. He looks wide eyed and a little dazed as he takes in his seemingly ordinary surroundings, his expression caught somewhere between confused tourist and terrified prey animal.