Any Time At All Chapter OneMore Like This
The four boys stood on the corner, huddled together to avoid the winter wind that was slipping through their jackets. George shifted from one foot to the other, hiding behind John to block the wind. He felt his nose begin to drip, and he wiped it hastily on his sleeve. He was so cold, he couldn't believe it. January in America was just so freezing; he liked Britain better. All he wanted to do was get inside and wrap up in a blanket on the couch. He coughed harshly as a tickle in the back of his throat grew up a bit. He bent into the crook of his elbow and coughed until the tickle went away. It didn't go away completely, but enough that he wouldn't have to cough again.
They had been posing for pictures for hours, and it was only getting colder as the day wore on. A headache pressed into form right above George's eyebrows as he watched the flash bulbs go off every few seconds.
Love lettersPaul,More Like This
Can't stop thinking about last night. Or rather, can't stop thinking about you.
It's crazy, really, but that's the way it is, right? At least I hope this is the way it is now. If not, let me know and I'll stop putting creepy notes in your pocket.
Didn't want to wake you up. I hope you're sleeping well and dreaming lots of lovely dream inside that pretty little head of yours. Perhaps about me. Better be about me. No, just kidding. I slept very well indeed anyway (always do beside you)
I'll see you later today and I'll think about you every second until then.
I just wanted to let you know that you, yes you, make me a very happy man. And I hope that I make you happy as well. And if that is the case, that you'll let me keep making you happy.
You've got me all warm and tingly and I hope you don't mind me saying that I'm falling pretty helplessly for you.
Oh, and you're beautiful.
Portland 1965 - Ch7More Like This
John opened his eyes. He was in a room; a warm, comfortable room. Bed sheets hugged his torso, and a roof protected his head.
"What." John nearly whispered the word. "What?!"
He sat up abruptly in his newly discovered bed and looked around. It was an apartment. No doubt the one he was supposed to be staying in before hell happened.
A sudden noise to his right made him jolt and he spun towards what looked like another bed. It was next to his, on the other side of a bedside cabinet. He stared at the organism inside the covers, watching carefully as their bed sheets rose up and down slowly calmly. Lennon studied the back of their head; the mop-top style defined its Beatle authenticity. But the colour, the shape of the head; he hadn't seen the shape of that head in a long time.
No, it can't be.
Almost startled by this new thought, he flung his bed sheets open, leapt up and almost sprinted the two steps he needed to reach the sleeping Beatle. His heart thumped loudly and his h
A Hungarian Christmas - Chp 2More Like This
Wrapped from head to toe with scarves, hats, gloves and coats, the Beatles trudged out of their hotel rooms, Ringo following the other three very unwillingly. They looked ridiculous, marching down the warm corridors as if they were in the arctic.
George smiled at a woman who seemed to have a vendetta against the top hat he was wearing. Paul was happy in his blue and white scarf that looked as if it was two miles long. He had wrapped it round his neck three times and it was still close to trailing on the floor. John was grinning because he was wearing a pair of gloves that made him look like he had hands the size of dustbins, with fake fur in the shape of bear paws.
Ringo was happy because he had his favorite boots on, but he was still scowling because John had stolen his coat, but had forgotten where he put it, so he had to use John's spare. Which was too big for him. It was huge on John but on Ringo, it swallowed him up. Stomping along in his little boots and a coat that was nearly br
A Hungarian Christmas - Chp 1More Like This
Snow was falling thick and fast outside, coming down in huge grey flakes. It came down in sheets and sheets. It was almost hypnotic. But the Beatles weren't paying attention. They didn't have time for snow then. John was muttering swearwords under his breath as he waited for someone to pick up the phone on the other end. Paul was pouting and messing with the covers on his bed miserably, George was sat beside him, reading a book half heartedly and Ringo was curled up at the end of the bed in a deep sleep.
"Where the fuck have you been?!" Ringo flinched in his slumbers and Paul and George looked at each other nervously. An angry John was not to be trifled with. "I don't care 'ow busy you've been, I've been on the bloody phone for half an hour and now I have to wait again?!" he roared down the phone. Paul got an image in his head of some poor shaking woman holding the other end while John Lennon screamed at her. Deciding it would be best for their drummer to wake up, he placed a hand on R