Caspian’s voice was fading and starting to crackle, which was just as well. We were building toward the final climax. No encore tonight. We had decided to leave it all on stage. Blow it out in one ecstatic set that would leave everyone dazed and trembling on the floor.

We all pounded our instruments as hard as we possibly could and then quit at the exact same time, letting the combined sound crash against the walls. My eyes were shut, imagining a sea of people. When I opened them, reality hit. Half the crowd had left, the few remaining howled as the last notes faded and feedback screeched from the amps. An anti-climactic conclusion to a show ten years in the making. That’s another thing I’ve learned: we never fully live the dream.

Sure, it may not have been everything I imagined, but it was still mighty fine. And as I looked out on the die-hards who had stuck around, seeing the girl who had flashed me still swaying and batting her eyes, the only regret I had was that we couldn’t do it again. This was the final chapter, the last act.

The stage manager cut the show lights and brightened the ones over the bar. The spattering applause petered out and those left turned to stake claims on empty stools.

Caspian stepped beside me. “Tore their fucking arses open,” he said, speaking with the affected British accent he had adopted years ago to sound more like Lemmy.

My ears were muffled and ringing. We’d likely given tinnitus to half the crowd. “Fuck yeah, man. Buried ’em in their graves.”

I turned to see Solomon smiling while slowly twirling a drumstick with a faintly dazed look, like he’d just been lobotomized. On the far right, Kevin had set the bass guitar down and was bent over talking to a frizzy-haired blonde with cleavage deeper than the Grand Canyon. She could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty, which was fine for Kevin. His type was anything with a hole.

“You still off the sauce?” Caspian asked.

I set my guitar in its stand, taking a moment to collect myself. It was a stupid question. Then again, Caspian was a stupid man.

“Yeah man. Seven years now.”

“Shame,” Caspian said, shaking his head. His pale scalp shone through the threads of his long, slicked-back hair. “But, on the other hand, we still get one more round on the house. I’ll take yours.”

“Knock yourself out.”

I stayed on stage as Caspian led the others down and started cleaving a path toward the bar. People patted their backs as they walked by, bleated at them with loose smiles and bleary eyes. This had been our lives once. Crammed into a filthy bus, crawling from town to town, blasting the eardrums off rowdy drunks in dirty, half-filled bars. And I had loved every minute of it. But that time was over now.

Except for tonight.