"The workshop is there as long as you keep your fucking hands off the guitar I'm working on." He pointed out the door across the room that was closed. He didn't mind if the Swede went in and had a look. "I picked it up when we were starving at the beginning to keep the us from dying."

He wasn't joking either. There had been times where they could barely afford food and slept in the van or later bus that got to shows in. They were all resourceful and picked up something but Rekker retired, sort of, from the stage into those skills. Even if he was nowhere near ready to tell the stage goodbye and would be back on it in a heartbeat.

Rekker walked past him toward the door to the workshop and ruffled his hair up even more. "I've been at this a long time."

The mention of kids though got a glance from the Brit that was filled with pain before he turned away and into the shop. He worked with kids, sometimes, to keep away the hurt of not knowing his own. He didn't want to think about that though or he would crash harder than he had in the elevator. "A few of them are playing in bands now."

He turned to something he was proud of and there was nothing as exciting as a few months ago when one of his student's bands was opening for a big name band and invited him to the show.

"It used to be louder and crazier here at night when Hexed was still together. The fucking noise and 3 in the morning pissed them off."