![]() ![]() Yet here she is-anyone’s ultimate dream girl-promising to save me. I definitely don’t expect her to sit down on the sidewalk and drum a song onto my thigh. And then she shows up, so pretty and polished and pure. When the music ends, I fade into the background like the undesirable I am. Little do they know I’m going back to nothing: no family, no friends, no roof over my head. ![]() For a small period of time every day, I’m special. I know how to draw a crowd and how to keep them riveted. I have to know who he is and where he learned to bang out drum solos like he owns the night. He plays with such confidence, such rage. ![]() I’ve never seen anyone my age as wild and unrestrained, a lightning bolt of electricity that never hits the same spot on his bucket drums twice. But I’m drawn by the talent and the turmoil behind the weary eyes of the drummer on the streets. I shouldn’t leave the safety of the music arena-my last name is McKallister, after all, and I’m intimately familiar with worst-case scenarios. I’m the privileged youngest child of the famous McKallister family. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |