“Man, why you got to be such a buzzkill?” Sweat had washed the hairspray from Caspian’s hair so that it fell lank to each side, revealing the yellow skin of his scalp. It was speckled with liver spots. The man enjoyed his toxins, and a liver could only do so much. He pushed away from the bar, swaying. “Fine, fuck it. I need a ride.”

“You leaving?” Solomon said. He had a hangdog look, like his feelings had been hurt.

I grinned, put my arm around Solomon and gave him a side-armed hug. “That was fun tonight. Good show. Let’s do it again soon.”

Solomon squeezed, holding me in place. “Be careful, okay?”

The hug went on longer than it should. “Thanks, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m serious.” Solomon was struggling to hold his eyes steady, making some gurgling sound as though he’d suffered a stroke. “It’s still out there.”

That was when I noticed the pink, striated strip of flesh running underneath Solomon’s chin down the side of his neck. It was partly concealed by some kind of skin-color goo that sweat had turned to paste.

“Oh, right.” I figured Solomon was trying to spook me. “Yeah, I’ll watch my back.”

I cupped Caspian’s elbow and guided him through the stragglers who were still at the bar, too wasted now to even notice the band was breaking up. Again. By tomorrow, most of them would have forgotten the show.

“You’re a fucking quitter, mate,” Caspian was saying, stumbling on unsteady legs, head bobbing. “Quit the band, quit booze. Got married. Bet you quit pussy too.”

“Yep, sure did.”

Caspian freed his arm and pushed through the door out into the parking lot. The air was cool and crisp and smelled like fresh asphalt. Gravel crunched underneath our feet, and as tempting as it was to let Caspian slip and fall, I helped guide my old front man to my car.

I took a quick survey of the lot but didn’t see Kevin anywhere. He must have taken his love connection home. Then, as I like to do at night, I looked up into space and scowled at the low-hanging curtain of black, the stars drowned out by the light pollution from Atlanta. We traded our view of the cosmos for the ability to work late into the night and gazers like me got the shaft.

A car whooshed by on the backwoods highway as I eased Caspian into the bucket seat of my Toyota Camry and closed the door. The marquee sign for the Full Moon Saloon was still lit up. RISING DEAD REUNION. Show starts at 8pm. $2 pints.

Yeah, of piss.

But now, in the great history book of the world, we will have forever rocked the Full Moon Saloon on this sleepy Saturday night. And that made me smile.