Garage Band

© Ayr/Gray

He said they had things to talk about, but she wasn’t having any of it. Hadn’t been having any of it for quite awhile, now that he thought about it. He looked again at the address on the flyer she’d shoved into his hand the minute his lips started moving. 

 ***

“Don’t be a prat, Kevin,” she’d yelled. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll miss the opening act.”

“Would that be such a tragedy, Kyra?” he sighed. “The first are usually the worst.”

“I’ve been telling you, this garage band does everything backwards and inside out…and it’s amazing!”

“Why have I never heard of them, then?”

She rolled her eyes.

***

The east side of the city had a seedy reputation. Although mixed commercial and residential, and run down, the neighborhood was clean and quiet, with little traffic, and proud little pots of flowers in front of most buildings. The closer they got to the location, the more people came out to sit on their front stoops, low balls and hand-rolled cigarettes resting between relaxed fingers.

The sun set abruptly.

A spotlight snapped on, electricity humming behind a truck-sized delivery door painted to depict tonight’s first act: three bloodshot eyeballs in top hat and tux, one on the keyboard, and two sharing a guitar.  

The door rolled up, music poured out, and Kyra began to dance. Other dancers filled the street. Kevin couldn’t help but get caught up.

Later, he had to agree that dancing beats talking, most times.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2024)

25 thoughts on “Garage Band

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