Davis had been the first one off the stage.  Indeed, he left while the band was still playing.  The lyrics had been finished, most of them anyway, and so he had dropped the mic stand and sauntered off.  The venue staff had made clear the band needed to wrap it up, flashing the time before the lights needed to go on.  Fucking pricks.  Davis could have played forever.<br/><br/>Brushing through a crowd of techs and roadies, his first stop had been the buffet for a handful of something crunchy and a bottle of tequila.  Tossing the pouring spout on the floor as he walked, Davis started in on his post-concert drinking as he explored the backstage.  The room had bored him almost immediately.  It was empty except for a girl setting up the food who had fled at one look from Davis.  Shrugging, he popped open the next door he found and headed down the hall.<br/><br/>The show had been amazing, but it was over and Davis was already coming down from that high.  He downed some tequila, seeing what he could do to chase one buzz after another without too much of a downtime.  Opening some doors, Davis found supply closets, a boiler room and an unlit office.  Sprawling himself in the office chair in the dark, Davis scooted himself back and forth, and then rolled it right out the door into the hall.  Boots up on the wall, he reclined the back until he was looking up at the ceiling and started pouring the tequila down his throat.