Literature
Chapter 5: Medium Well
The cigarette lights up,
burning, hissing,
as it travels through the throat and lungs.
His weight sinks into the sofa,
as he exhales smoke in the air.
Fortress green, the booth room blazing behind the glass.
He brings his hand up,
digs a thumb into the side of his temple,
and closes his eyes.
His other hand finds the melody,
note by note, pushing into invisible keyboards.
The cushions shudder beneath him.
Colt’s timing with the kick is deliberate—low, thudding,
from the floorboards and up to his legs.
Snares are sharp,
hitting high and clean,
against the reverb of his guitar solo.
Chase’s voice resounds through the monitors.
His face tightens,
hearing it waver as it nears the 2:15 mark of the track.
An eye flutters open,
he turns his head, slightly,
and looks past Colt and Nathan.
Chase’s chest drops,
the note goes brittle, pressurized to a fray.
It thins out the tenth time.
“Fuck!” Chase rips the headphones off.
The chair falls as he stands.
“Come on, man. I can’t sing
