Light burst screaming onto the scene of the two skinny young men pulling at opposite ends of a musical instrument. Not exactly opposite ends: One had his hands on a sound plug, and the other was trying to keep it away from him by manipulating the whole body of the guitar. [ They were anchored in this endeavour by a long sound cord, leading to the dark cube of a battery amp. Various odd sounds were coming out of the amp. None of them particularly guitar-like. There was a low-level shrieking, punctuated by the occasional pocks and snaps, all of them hard to hear, because the volume had been turned way done low, and so only an intermittent sound track to the struggle was created. ]
Neither of the pair had actually succeeded in accomplishing what he was trying to accomplish, so they had become some sort of man-guitar bolo that was now whirling around the floor of the shared loft with the amp (slowly sliding) as the focus. The guitar and amp might not have been the easiest thing to bolo around the loft, because objects were in the way. First, Flynn nearly took out a lamp table. This was near to Mel's mattress, where she liked to sit and scrawl in her sketchbook. Mel wasn't there at the moment, and this was a good thing, because Flynn's surplus army shoes made grey patterns on her black sheets. Zero, on the other end (the neck of the guitar) used his momentum and the shared desire not to smash the instrument (both of them claimed ownership, as the reader will see) to angle away from Mel's pallet, and towards something potentially worse: the umbrella table, its parasol still open, bearing the beer-name logo just as if it still sat on the restaurant terrace from which it had been filched. Unbalance! Randomness! Risk! All of these elements were involved.
«Allow me the honour!», «No, allow me!» This is in essence what the pair were saying to each other, but actually the terms were more like «w-fuck!» and «let go!,» mainly a lot more like grunting. There's no need to put it all down. Though that might be fun for a while, and exercise for the fingers. But it wouldn't elucidate the struggle any more clearly. For that you would need a map, or a diagram. A small circle whose radius is the guitar, with the boys as opposite points, a larger circle which is the sound cord, with the aforementioned amp as the centre, dragging along its own path. That actually might illuminate some of the layout of the loft a bit more clearly, but that can be imagined.
(c) Jack Ruttan, 1999