8:37
George was doing a fair job tonight, Paul thought and strummed along. The birds were going crazy, as ever, screeching and shrieking in ecstasy and drowning out every single note the lads played or sang. What was the point in going to a concert and screaming your heart out?
Paul listened to George in his head and watched his friend's lips form the words they had sung so many times before "If I had some more time to spend, then I guess I'd be with you, my friend," himself and John joining in at "If I needed someone."
"Had you come some other day, then it might not have been like this-"
The screaming changed, if only for a couple of seconds, being cut by a massive noise from what seemed out of nowhere before returning to, well, normal crazy, but it made Paul turn towards Ringo who was jollily banging his drums as if he hadn't heard. Paul looked at John who shot him a radiant smile that said 'Play on, son.' And George sang on unfazed by any possible amp, lamp or speaker fuse blowing.
The next song was Paul's and he bravely threw himself into "Day Tripper" feeling slightly nauseous. Halfway through it, he felt the pain. A dull thud numbed his left shoulder and he kept missing chords. Quite annoyed with himself Paul tried to shake his arm back to life but failed.
Perhaps this was him getting too old for touring. Perhaps two concerts per day were just too much.
John and he launched into "Baby's in Black" and he found himself losing touch not only with the show, but with the whole situation. He realized then that something was very much not right. His arm gave out little pinpricks and felt generally hot, but it would not obey him. All he could do was hold the guitar and mime. No one would notice anyroad.