Chapter 10

History danced along walls, echoes, ghosts of underground concerts and ambitions on the brink. Kris touched a post, felt broken glass under boots, recalled singing at that spot where the microphone would’ve been, and the way the sound system had blown out halfway through but they hadn’t stopped, just kept going and shouted louder, and he’d been sweat-drenched and high on pure emotion, in love with the crowd the same way they loved him right back…

“It smells the same,” Reggie said, nudging something unidentifiable with a boot. “You remember opening for Jayne the Countess, when she was doing that firecracker trick and lit the whole stage on fire? That scorch mark’s still up there, look.”

Kris sat down on the stage, uncaring about stickiness, and gazed out at the shadows. At glimpses of motion, emotion, life and love and ripped jeans and spilled drinks and the waving of music like a battle flag, a claiming of space: we’re here, we’re alive, we’re making noise, come and listen.