Jamie ext 461
I smoothed down the frayed hem of my cutoff shorts, letting my fingers linger on the tattered band patch sewn onto them. Another city, another arena, another high that pulsed through me like the bass line thrumming through the floor. I wasn’t some starry-eyed fan at the barricade; I was part of the chaos, an honorary member of the circus.
My life was a blur of tour buses, grimy green rooms, and the fleeting intimacy of late-night hotel rooms. Some girls want the ring, the white picket fence. Me? I want the next gig, the next scream from the crowd, the next chance to lose myself in the primal rhythm of a live show.
