Gavin in the apartment...Anastasia
Trevor was at work, and Gavin was writing. Furiously, in a sweat, pencil ground down to a nub. It was good work, it was brilliant work, it was terrible. It was words, at least. Pouring out of him, making him bleed. He was drinking, too, a sip of whiskey every few pages.It helped him think. Smoking, too, even though Trevor hated the smell of it in the apartment.