bass drum or floor tom or crash
cymbals. Just me and the kit.
The second to last song is a cover. The Offspring’s
raw and energetic “Hammerhead” is the perfect mock last song, and it was my
pick. Though not thrash metal, this song comes pretty close. I roll through it
with an on point intensity.
When we finish, the crowd goes crazy. Romeo, Justin,
and Sam bow at the edge of the stage and the crowd goes more nuts. I start
walking off. I’m not into all this pseudo shit.
Back in the long, cement room, Sam exclaims, “That
went fucking perfect!”
Justin fist bumps him. “We have landed on another level.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Romeo says but grins. “Always
room to improve.”
I spin a drumstick.
A fake roadie passes out bottled waters.
The crowd’s chant for more reverberates in the
little room while we wait for the customary five minutes. This time Justin
leads us out to the stage. The crowd is like a roar as we step back out.
We end the night with our biggest hit thus far,
Justin’s pussy whipped song, “Inked My Heart.” I actually like playing the
song. It has a progression of slow to fast then back down again that was a
challenge at first. Speeding up then slowing down is probably more of a
challenge to me than most drummers. I like to beat the shit out of my drums
when I play. At the end of a set, the song is like a work out cool down. The
perfect calm after the storm of kicking ass during the set.
At the real end of the set, I go to the edge of the
stage with the rest of the band and bow too. I’ve always found this weird—like
I just performed Shakespeare or some shit—but Romeo always has us do the bow
thing if we’re the closing act.
Swallow fucking swallow.
After the last bow, I throw my sticks out into the crowd.
One to the left and the other to the right. A tall brunette in the closed off
sorority section catches the one I threw to the right. She watches me with
eager eyes.
Yeah, right.
On the road, I wasn’t too particular about who I
hooked up with as long as they were hot and willing. A night of sex tends to
fill the empty void, for a few hours at least, that is part of me. But the
concept of anything long term was obsolete on tour. Here at home, I stay away
from her type. Been there. Done that. No uppity bitch ever broke my heart, but
several have stomped on my pride. They like the bad boys. For a night or two.
Not that I had been expecting anything long term. But
I don’t like being treated like trash after fucking someone. Even if it is
true.
The crowd still chants for more as we head to the
back. We’re in the cement room, waiting for out gear to be brought back, when
the girlfriends and their entourage, including April, rush in. Hugging and
kissing commence as if we just came back from a war instead of the stage.
Riley’s friend Chloe, April, and me are left standing amid the romantic
congratulations.
Cheeks faintly pink, April leans on the wall and
looks away from me. She appears embarrassed but ready for battle with her
shoulders thrown back—which inadvertently pushes her high breasts out.
Damn. I want her. Badly. Though I admitted my
attraction to her internally, I kept the actual possibility of being with her
as a not-going-to-ever-fucking-happen. Until she dragged her hot mouth across
my rain wet skin and turned me on so hard, I wanted to screw her in a puddle on
that wet basketball court. The beauty of the situation is that she wants me
too. She may not be willing to admit it—might even be horrified by it like she
was the other night—but her fingers on my mouth, her lips on my skin, tell the
truth. I’m just going to have to ease her into her horror—into the truth.
And yeah, I’m not good enough for her, and it will
be a quick one or two nights with the bad boy for her. But screw my pride.
I want her that bad.
She glances at me and her eyes widen at my intense
stare, as if reading my thoughts through my gaze. Her head snaps as she looks
away
cymbals. Just me and the kit.
The second to last song is a cover. The Offspring’s
raw and energetic “Hammerhead” is the perfect mock last song, and it was my
pick. Though not thrash metal, this song comes pretty close. I roll through it
with an on point intensity.
When we finish, the crowd goes crazy. Romeo, Justin,
and Sam bow at the edge of the stage and the crowd goes more nuts. I start
walking off. I’m not into all this pseudo shit.
Back in the long, cement room, Sam exclaims, “That
went fucking perfect!”
Justin fist bumps him. “We have landed on another level.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Romeo says but grins. “Always
room to improve.”
I spin a drumstick.
A fake roadie passes out bottled waters.
The crowd’s chant for more reverberates in the
little room while we wait for the customary five minutes. This time Justin
leads us out to the stage. The crowd is like a roar as we step back out.
We end the night with our biggest hit thus far,
Justin’s pussy whipped song, “Inked My Heart.” I actually like playing the
song. It has a progression of slow to fast then back down again that was a
challenge at first. Speeding up then slowing down is probably more of a
challenge to me than most drummers. I like to beat the shit out of my drums
when I play. At the end of a set, the song is like a work out cool down. The
perfect calm after the storm of kicking ass during the set.
At the real end of the set, I go to the edge of the
stage with the rest of the band and bow too. I’ve always found this weird—like
I just performed Shakespeare or some shit—but Romeo always has us do the bow
thing if we’re the closing act.
Swallow fucking swallow.
After the last bow, I throw my sticks out into the crowd.
One to the left and the other to the right. A tall brunette in the closed off
sorority section catches the one I threw to the right. She watches me with
eager eyes.
Yeah, right.
On the road, I wasn’t too particular about who I
hooked up with as long as they were hot and willing. A night of sex tends to
fill the empty void, for a few hours at least, that is part of me. But the
concept of anything long term was obsolete on tour. Here at home, I stay away
from her type. Been there. Done that. No uppity bitch ever broke my heart, but
several have stomped on my pride. They like the bad boys. For a night or two.
Not that I had been expecting anything long term. But
I don’t like being treated like trash after fucking someone. Even if it is
true.
The crowd still chants for more as we head to the
back. We’re in the cement room, waiting for out gear to be brought back, when
the girlfriends and their entourage, including April, rush in. Hugging and
kissing commence as if we just came back from a war instead of the stage.
Riley’s friend Chloe, April, and me are left standing amid the romantic
congratulations.
Cheeks faintly pink, April leans on the wall and
looks away from me. She appears embarrassed but ready for battle with her
shoulders thrown back—which inadvertently pushes her high breasts out.
Damn. I want her. Badly. Though I admitted my
attraction to her internally, I kept the actual possibility of being with her
as a not-going-to-ever-fucking-happen. Until she dragged her hot mouth across
my rain wet skin and turned me on so hard, I wanted to screw her in a puddle on
that wet basketball court. The beauty of the situation is that she wants me
too. She may not be willing to admit it—might even be horrified by it like she
was the other night—but her fingers on my mouth, her lips on my skin, tell the
truth. I’m just going to have to ease her into her horror—into the truth.
And yeah, I’m not good enough for her, and it will
be a quick one or two nights with the bad boy for her. But screw my pride.
I want her that bad.
She glances at me and her eyes widen at my intense
stare, as if reading my thoughts through my gaze. Her head snaps as she looks
away
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