All that he was flapped in the coat, above the platforms and in the big gold rimmed glasses.
He was a star for a time before the lifestyle got to him and he hung everything up.
The guitar still called to him. He always heard unwritten melodies in his head and though he wanted to answer…
He stayed in the audience. He watched the up-and-comers, waiting for something.
The sound had changed. The cars had changed and so had the industry.
Even the drugs had changed, but he still chased the magic, rode the horse, and hoped for the lightening. His was a relic, bygone.
He inhaled deeply and lay back, letting the smoke drift from his mouth while he held his breath.