stale beer and cheap perfume. Ten days. That's what the "Dreamweave
had just finished. The crowd's cheers were a dull roar in my ears. For the last three years, s
was different. My
ourbon he'd been sipping – swaggered towards me backstage. Kendra, our tour assista
a little too loud, a little t
ng. I let him spend his nights with her. I let him give her the vintage microph
ng to her. She leaned into him, a picture of delic
ed. Of course.
ur attitude isn't helping. All this hostility, t
xpecting... what?
across my face. It probably look
ked, th
said, my voice surprisingly s
ay. The irony wa
festival grounds. There was an old, disused water tower there, a relic from a forgoation. From the top, the festival was a sprawl of lights and sound, a world I
dity, brushed my face. I closed my eyes. The distant chi
Two.
h chime, I
mply l
r rather, I dissolved. No im
ver had kept
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