“I got into a riff,” he said, sounding nasal over the phone.
She dismissed it, thinking it was the usual music lingo he resorted to when he got excited about a new composition, or when he wanted to draw a wall around him. She was too tired to scale it then.
She shrieked in alarm when she went over to meet him a few days later. He’d gotten into another bar fight. She didn’t want to ask what started it. Perhaps his drunken strumming. Or some such jazz.
It tugged at her heart strings to realise that what he really meant was, he had gotten into a tiff.
Daily Prompt: Riff