A retired rock roadie finds out he may have some of that rock n’ roll aura when the girl next door starts something with him…
It was a lazy kind of summer, a slow heat that baked my brain into a nice warm fuzz. The kind of summer for lazing in the garden, watching bees bumble around. Perfect festival weather. Shit, those had been good times, but I didn’t miss the hard work on stage and behind the scenes.
As I dozed off, the buzzing of the bees turned into the distant roar of the crowd. Hungry for the band to come up. My body tensed as I wrestled an imaginary monitor. I smelt the sweat and beer wafting from the crowd, and the rubbery stench of hot wires under the lights.
My doorbell ringing shocked me awake. I jerked up, spilling my water over my crotch. The perfect ‘I’ve just pissed myself’ look. That was another festival memory, everybody had woken up in a strange place having pissed themselves.
The door rang again and I stomped through my house to see who was bothering me. It wasn’t even noon yet.