Crashing a Gig in a Small Supper Club
By now the piano player hates the trumpeter. The stage has become a hostile environment. Soon it will be time to wake up the bass player. I just want to get off the stage. It's my turn again. We are just about to wrap up my song and people start screaming.
Her fury, her hurt, her fear and shame was pure focus. She dug deeper into her legs. The blood began to run down her thighs, soaking through her dress and forming a small puddle in the pew.