ceciliatan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

(If you haven’t had a chance to go upvote DGC vol 4, now being serialized on Wattpad, go on over there and click that star icon, please? -ctan)
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Nomad moved to a bigger rehearsal space the week before hitting the road. The new place was a former airplane hangar/movie soundstage on the edge of Van Nuys and the first person I saw when we walked up was Louis. He was sitting on an overturned milk crate outside the door, wearing opaque black sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. His overgrown hair was grayer than I remembered.

He flicked the cigarette onto the blacktop the second he saw me and stood up to give me a back-poundy manhug. “Shit. You’ve grown.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Shit,” he said again, shaking his head. “How you been?”

“Good,” I said automatically. It’s not like I was going to bring him up to speed on the past two years in two minutes.

“Good,” he said back. “Welcome to my office.”