Green Hair Week: I’m Sure We Can Find Something

Mitchell was still waking up on the bus, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and scratching it off his chest, when he staggered into to the front lounge.

Trevor took one look at him and screeched, dropping his cigarette into the ashtray.

“What the fuck?” Mitchell asked, squinting at his band. He was, like it was any surprise, the last one up. Even Charlie the tour manager was sitting in the front lounge, pretending to read a magazine.

“Your head,” Daniel said.

Mitchell scrubbed at his beard. He’d been too lazy after the show the night before to shave; he figured that blanket fuzz or feathers were stuck in it. Again.

Eric said. “It … how’d it get worse overnight?”

“It didn’t,” Daniel said, starting to smirk.

Trevor choked on his laughter. “Hey, dumb fuck,” he said to Mitchell, who lifted his chin but still couldn’t get his eyes the whole way open.

<"Get out of the sun," Trevor said. "Man, I know plenty of girls who wouldn't stand on a street corner with hair that color."

"What are we going to do about it?" Eric asked.

"Bleach it?" Daniel suggested.

"Cut it off!" Trevor crowed.

"Same thing," the tour manager said, not looking up from his magazine. "I'll make some calls, see if we can find some beauty shop who'll fix you up."

Trevor snickered. "I want to see M in curlers!"

Mitchell growled at him and sunk into the bench seat behind the table. "If word about this gets out…"

Daniel played with one of his curls. "That's a good point. Maybe we should see if we can fix this, ourselves, first."

"How?" Eric asked.

Daniel opened the mini-fridge and looked inside. "I'm sure we can find something."