As the two talked among themselves, Brian made his way out. He grabbed a half-empty glass from a table he passed. He drank from it, didn't even care what it was. When he finished, he slammed it on another table. It rested on the edge, a little more and it would've crashed on the floor.
Outside, it was unusually cold. Brian crossed his arms in a shrug and headed out into the waning night.
Elsewhere, a black Cadillac rolled up a street. A man approached the car and peered inside. Then, the door clicked open. First, a puff of smoke, then a foot appeared. The glitter of the metallic shoe glinted in what was left of the moonlight. Curt Wild stepped out.
"Thank Jesus you're here." the man said. "I wouldn't have been surprised if the place imploded, if you arrived any later. It's crazy in there." He led Curt through the doors and up the stairs.
It felt like the steps and the banisters shook as they climbed. Muffled screams leaked out of a door opening to the main stage.
"They're all yours." the man said, once they reached the top of the last flight.
Curt smiled, the cigarette still in his mouth. "I guess I'll play a slow song first to calm them down." he said softly, finally taking the slow-burning stick off his lips. He handed it to the man. He then walked down the hall and pushed the door leading to the stage.
The man wasn't lying. The place looked ravaged, like there had been a raid or something. It was loud, and the crowd became wilder at the sight of him.
"Curt Wild, everybody." the bassist introduced him.
He blew the crowd a kiss.
"I'll start with number four this time." he whispered to his band.
"Number four? Alright." the bassist said, as he handed Curt an acoustic guitar. "Take it away."
Curt gently strummed the strings and sang. The whole room grew silent instantly.
Well I've
been thinkin' 'bout the future
Too young to pretend
It's such a waste
to always look behind you
You should be lookin' straight ahead
Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on
Before we meet again
Yeah, it's hard
If you had've only seen
His eyebrows furrowed as he played, struggling with emotions.
He managed to stifle them as he started again.
10:34, Flinders Street Station
I'm lookin' down the tracks
Uniformed man, askin' 'Am I paid up'
Why would I wanna be that?
Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on
Before we meet again
Yeah, it's hard
If you had've only seen
Take control
Don't be afraid of me, he sang, eyes closed, slightly shaking his head.
Cause every once in a while, he nearly screamed.
You think about if you're gonna
get yourself together
You should be happy just to be alive
Just because
you just don't feel like, comin' home
Don't mean that you'll never arrive, he groaned.
Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on
Before we meet again
Yeah, it's hard
If you had've only seen, he pointed his eyes upward for a moment.
Take control, he held his breath.
Don't be
afraid of me, he strummed the last chords and bowed his head, exhaling.
You're alright. You're doing fine.
"What's next, ah? Curt? You old crowd pleaser, you." asked the band's drummer. "We wanna play too you know."
Curt switched his acoustic guitar with the electric, as the applause continued.
"Let's go back to number one." he said.
Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Move On." It belongs to Jet.