I am working on a very short piece. It’s not done yet; my pen just died. I wanted your opinion thus far on it. And what should I call it?
“Any way you want it,” the Aqua Netted™ lead singer croons into the mic while stepping off of the makeshift stage next to the bar area. Us fans are front and center; the waitresses are scurrying around us delivering shots of Jack or vodka or whatever one can dream of, froofy girly drinks and beer to the tables that are scattered everywhere. At the bar men and some women are drinking; all is silent or whatever conversation there was had been drowned out by drums, electric and bass guitars.
It is mostly women in the audience that is front and center to the stage; I am the youngest, or what it seems like to me, in the crowd that swarm the really hot lead singer with the Aqua Net™ now dripping off in the sweat of his stringy blond hair and covers his beet red face.
“Oh, all night,” he crescendos to mimic Steve Perry’s wonderful crooning and voice, “oh, every night. So hold tight;” he winks at me, extending his hand, grabbing mine and pulling me front and center.