Welcome to the junk drawer of Denver Leary!
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Denver notices you poking around his stuff, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all. "Sorry about the mess," is all he says as you paw through his junk. When you mess with the guitar strings, though, he looks up from his cigarette. "Oh, can you pass that, actually? I gotta change the strings on this thing." He jerks his head towards the Gibson in the corner of his room. You toss the strings at him, and he flashes you a thumbs up as he catches it.
You notice an envelope tucked away in the corner addressed to Denver by name only. It's thick and old; it's clearly seen better days. You turn it over in your hand to see that it's from someone named Alex. You're just about to open it when you hear Denver drop his guitar with a loud CLANG.
"WAIT. Not that one."
Granted, Denver's room isn't very big, but you're still kind of stunned with how quickly he's made it from his corner over to you. Before you get a chance to protest, he grabs the envelope and stuffs it in his back pocket. His mouth is smiling, but he's steadfastly looking at anything but you. "Sorry. That one's... private. Uh. Hey. You wanna watch some TV?"
