You fight the urge to wipe the drummer’s drool off of your cheek, terrified that any movement from you might incite a bad reaction. You hear Jimmy draw a long, bored sigh in response to Bonham’s provocation, and you nervously try to find him past Bonzo’s disturbingly muscular arm. His calm demeanor confuses you, you had just been interrupted doing a particularly dirty act, by a drunk and obviously dangerous man, who’s whole 200 pounds of muscle were now hovering precariously above your comparatively frail frame, and there Jimmy was; sighing, no shame, no fear, just bored patience. As if he had seen this all before, as if it was only a matter of time till …
You hear a thump, and lie still as your body bounces up and down as a result of a drunk drummer collapsing to his side, like a wounded animal. The bed creaks, as if to punctuate the event’s comedic timing. But you lay still, as if fearful that he might wake up, that it might just be a joke, a second sigh from Jimmy acts as confirmation that the great Beast was well and truly down.
Finally, you remember your body’s necessity to breath, and take a long breath of air. Silence, underlined by the slow, heavy breathing of the collapsed Bonham permeate the air, accompanying a rising culmination of anger. How could he have been so sure… He hadn’ t moved an inch, he just sat by, waiting… nothing had actually happened but the idea of what he would have (or wouldn’t have) done if something did… simmered under your skin and made your blood curdle.
Would he have sat by? Wait until his psycho friend was finished with you or get bored? You turn your head towards him, peering at him in his cool stance on the bed, staring at his friend with mild interest.