ceciliatan

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

Our plague ship sailed all night and we pulled up to the Byrne arena some time in the morning. I’m not sure when since I was dead asleep in my bunk and didn’t wake up for another couple of hours.

After lunch I went looking for Remo and found him in a production office on the phone. It was one of those bare bones offices with just a desk with a dented leg and one chair in addition to the phone. Plain cinder block walls.

“Seriously,” he was saying into the receiver, “don’t come tonight. By tomorrow we won’t be contagious anymore. Can you make it then?”