"I hate this song."
It was the first time that Peter had ever uttered the phrase and it shocked me to my core. I mean, how can he hate a song that his mother picked out for him? But with all of the stuff he went through with Ego... It's no wonder he's not in the greatest condition. Still, it makes me disregard the idea of ordering another drink in favour of watching the slumped form of the man that dances his way through life.
Sat on a creaky bar stool that groans with each over-exaggerated movement (usually every movement) he makes, Peter stares down at the half full drink in the burgundy of his Ravager leathers. Ash fills my nose from the heady scent of the hard liquor.
At any other time, we would be sat in a completely different bar. Filled to the brim with stupid patrons who Peter would hustle for money before being caught cheating so we have to run back to the Milano and take off with our new collection of misfits; the Guardians of the Galaxy now featuring Man