Jono officially hated everything, ever.
He still smelled faintly of beer, thanks to his arrest yesterday by a dog and a bunny rabbit, and he missed his jacket, damn it, and sooner or later he was going to have to get his hands on more bandages, or a more convenient way of covering his face, and there was a chip in the body of his guitar and he was sore from Fight Club... And he was running out of reasons to be cranky, but he'd come up with something if only he was given the time to. Really.
For the time being, he was laying down backwards on his bed, staring at the ceiling, with his feet propped up on his headboard and Nirvana playing on the stereo. Because there were absolutely worse ways to spend a cranky evening, thank you very much.
He was currently trying to figure out what those were, too.
- Room 408, Sunday Evening, after Fight Club