I’m celebrating the end of a grueling grad school semester with a much needed weekend getaway – hanging out in St. Louis with an old friend and catching a concert by my favorite band.
In that spirit, today’s snippet is from my free short story “Not My Thing,” about a musician trying to reconnect with the music. This scene is from the beginning, right before the band takes the stage.
“Seven,” Todd, the lead singer of the Dancing Freemasons, says.
“Huh?” asks Steve, the bassist, as he jumps from foot to foot; maybe it’s nerves, or maybe he just has to pee.
“Seven numbers tonight,” Todd says as he winks at his bandmates, “or should I say, lucky seven.”
“Four,” chimes in Eric, the other guitarist.
“Twelve,” says Steve.
Todd snorts, rolls his eyes, and says,” I give you two.”
They run through this ritual before every show: predict how many phones numbers each of them can get from female fans after the show. They always overestimate, but that’s half the fun.
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