Aug. 10th, 2013

brian_campo: (roof)
[personal profile] brian_campo
“Hey, Brian. Get your shit together, man!”

“Sorry.”

The Dive was an aptly-named bar about a mile from the famous strip. Its customers were locals and many of them were students at the university. The odors of beer and cigarette smoke had long ago soaked into the wood paneling on the walls, and Brian had never known a time when the cement floor wasn’t sticky. Even so, it was the kind of hole in the wall where people flocked to escape tourism. There was a pool room in the back, drinks were cheap, and the chicken fingers from the kitchen weren’t half bad.

The doors opened at 8 p.m. That left time for a final sound check, one that hadn’t gone well for Brian, who was typically thought of as the technician of the group because he was the only one with formal training. When he screwed up, it was a bad sign.

“You skipped the bridge,” Seth complained. “We sounded like amateurs.”

“We are amateurs,” Mikey called from behind the drum kit.

Distracted )

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