"Dear Pru,

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I miss you

Like a rock in my shoe."

John let out a chuckle as he reread his little poem. Twiddling his pencil between his fingers, he thought of what to write next.

"How is life in old Liddypool? How's school? Are you keeping up on your fashion dreams? I want to hear everything.

But enough about you. Hamburg is great! Our gig is perfect. We get a lot of playtime, and the pay is good. It's really helping us tighten up our act. And our hotel isn't bad, either. We're right next to the cinema, so I can get my daily dosage of Brigitte Bardot."

While he wrote, the door opened, and Paul, Pete, Stu, and George walked in. The bags under their eyes mirrored those under John's, and they walked with a heavy step.

"Ey John," Paul sighed, dropping himself onto his cot. "Writing again?"

Pete leaned against the wall and slid down, smoking the cigarette in his hand. Stu sprawled across his own cot.

"It's a letter to Prudence," John replied, releasing a small smile as he said her name.

Paul acknowledged the fact with a tired nod. John looked up at the lads, and set his pencil down. He ran his hand through his hair, his quiff disheveled.

"When's our next set?" He asked, inwardly groaning as he said so.

"Fuh munutsh," Stu muttered, his face in his pillow.

"Huh?"

Stu turned his head. He looked half asleep. "Five minutes."

John sighed. "Alright then, we better go get ready. I'll finish my letter, and we'll be out."

As he picked up his pencil, he noticed someone behind him.

"John," George said. "This whole letter's a lie, you know."

"What are you talking about?" John snapped.

"Well, we aren't in a hotel," George explained timidly, pointing to the letter as he did so. "And I don't think I've ever heard you praise our pay."

"Well, what do you want me to tell her, George? The truth? That we're living in a closet behind a movie screen, working twelve hours a gig with hardly any pay?" John threw his pencil onto the tabletop, shouting.

Everyone was quiet. George looked away, his hand on the back of his neck. "Yeah, you probably shouldn't tell her that," he said softly.

John dropped his head into his hands. "I can't let her worry," he murmured.

Sucking in a breath, he lifted his head. "Alright, we have to go play." He stood up.

"I'm sorry John," George said.

"No, no, it's my fault," John smiled a little. "I just got a little tense, is all. Come 'ead."

Everyone slowly stood, and marched out like men at a funeral.

He began to follow the lads out, but stopped and quickly ran back to his letter.

"I miss you, Pru. I miss you a lot. And I love you. I love love love you.

-John Lennon"

{HI
it's been a whole year since I wrote, I'm sorry. This is kind of a filler, just to set the situation.
I'm sorry I am such a lazy bum.
Who heard Paul's collabs with Kanye? They weren't half bad ;)

PEACE AND LOVE L***}