paalm3418723
The Orpheum smells like sweat, ambition, and possibility.
Luke Patterson stands center stage, guitar slung across his back, heart thudding like a kick drum. The sound check just wrapped, and it was tight-too tight. Reggie's bass was locked in, Alex's drums were fire, and Bobby didn't mess up the bridge for once. Luke's fingers still buzz from the last chord.
"Too bad we wasted the tightest we've played on a sound check," Bobby mutters, already halfway offstage.
Luke grins. "Wait until tonight, man. When this place gets packed with record execs? We're gonna blow the roof off."
Reggie throws an arm around Alex. "Alex, you were smoking."
Alex shrugs, trying to hide a smile. "Oh no. I was just warming up. You guys were the ones on fire."
"Could you just own your awesomeness for once?" Reggie groans.
Alex sighs. "Fine. I was killing it."
Luke laughs, the sound echoing off the empty seats. This is it. This is the moment. The dream they've chased through garages and dive bars and late-night songwriting sessions. He reaches into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing the edges of his notebook. There's a half-finished song in there. One he hasn't shown the guys. One he's saving-for after they make it.
"Alright," he says, slapping his hands together. "I'm thinking we fuel up before the show. Street dogs?"
Reggie's eyes light up. "Ooh!"
Alex hesitates. "Yes. But like... maybe we don't eat anything that looks like it's been sitting in the sun since the '80s?"
Luke smirks. "Live a little."
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