Jason was perfectly happy to share...happiness, that is. However, some other of the local residents had other ideas.
Next to him was a strange little pile of stones, gleaming with some liquid that smelled of wine and pine resin. He himself was in a Gir T-shirt, clutching a battered acoustic guitar covered with old London indie band stickers. He looked inordinately proud to be starting to draw an audience...
...until he finished his first song, looked down, and saw about twenty mosquitoes happily lined up on his arm, chowing down.
"Augh!" His slap along his arm turned into a mini-flail, guitar banging against his thighs as he half-rose. "Oh, great, of all the things to forget--" desperately, he grabbed the retsina bottle, shook the last drops free into his palm, and flung it into the air, muttering something in Greek. "Go--shoo! Go bite a tree or something!"
Mosquitoes were dead common in the area at that time of year, their faint whine in one's ear nearly constant at times, especially in parks and woods. But suddenly, as if in response to the man's desperate order, every skeeter in the immediate area suddenly had somewhere else to be.
"Phew..." he mumbled, scratching at his arm absently as he settled back into his seat.