[@Framing A Moose]

[h3]Chapter 4: My Bed Sucks.  Can I Sleep in Yours?[/h3]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUpKiZGpQHQ

Suddenly she stopped playing, startled by a rustling of sorts she heard....from within the apartment.

Wait, wasn't this place supposed to be abandoned?  Liz was sure, but that wasn't the case it seemed.  She set her guitar down carefully, trying her best not to make any further sounds.  All she needed was to be caught trespassing to add to the melancholy mixtape that was her life at this point.  The cops wouldn't be too friendly with her either, probably roughing her up a bit before throwing her in jail like the rest of the downtrodden homeless.  She gulped, a bit too audibly a sharp swallow of air pushing down her throat, her hand reaching behind in her back jean pocket for her small switchblade knife.  Slowly, ever so, she approached the door, hugging the wall as tight as she could.

Worst case scenario, it wasn't the supposed owner of the apartment and the place was abandoned.  Which would mean it was either some junkie fucked out of his mind on drugs or a couple of gangbangers looking for some hell to raise.  Either of the two Liz didn't want to suspect, and just her and a knife alone wouldn't be much against a pack of thugs or one screwed up meth head.  The least she could hope for was to stab one guy quick so she could get away.