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 forgo

ation. 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