Sing me a Song of Betrayal
Offhand I can think of maybe a million places to begin, but I’ll do you a solid
and start with the good stuff.
I buy a cup of whatever the club has on tap. I remember this part clearly
because it cost me eight bucks. Then I’m turning and kind of weaving my way to the stage, trying not to bump anyone or spill my beer on account of the eight
I see my girl in the spotlight, wailing on her guitar, creating a sound that vibrates my brain. She is sex and violence, red lips and ecstasy, a frenzied
lioness in heat.
And then Trent, that prick, starts in on the solo, only tonight for some reason
it’s not a solo, and my girl croons along with him, and they share a mike, and
their mouths are close enough to kiss, and as they exhaust the final note they
look deeply, longingly, pathetically into each other’s eyes. And I see everything I need to see.
I dump the beer on the sidewalk.
Alex Miller is an editor at a small newsapper in Tennessee. He could use a vacation.
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