Sunday, July 06, 2008
Springer Fiction: Encountering Eric
It was nothing more than wishful thinking. Springer knew that. He knew that affording anything more than a new D string was out of the question. But he couldn't help himself. He had to stop in at Guitars by Gus and see what was new. Even a guy like him was allowed to dream.
Good thing dreaming was free. Since scrambling to put all that money together for the ShapeShifter Musical Hanukkah Celebration last December, Springer had been broke. His car insurance had come due, and since he had a job, Dad had made him cough up the cash for it.
"Son, you don't pay rent," Dad had pointed out.
Springer kept his mouth shut and handed over fifty bucks from his pay each week. That left him with just enough to fill his gas tank, although lately that hadn't been so easy, either. Springer had made his girl do some of the driving, but she hadn't been happy about it, and she let him know it.
Doing shit with her hadn't been happening much lately. Springer didn't want to think too much about that. He didn't want to think about much -- he just wanted to drop into Guitars by Gus and dream a little.
The shop was buzzing when he walked in. No one noticed him come through the door, which wasn't normal. Usually, you walked in and Gus himself or one of his kids was there to say hi. Today, no one.
That's because people were packed in. It was like someone was giving a clinic, one everyone else in town had known about, probably because they stopped in more often than once every few months.
Springer craned his neck, trying to see who was the cause of all the excitement.
No go.
He turned around and read the flyers taped to the front door, trying to read signs that weren't facing him. If there was anything there about a clinic today, he couldn't see it. Maybe it had been taken down.
Three people came in behind him, pushing Springer into the line to meet whoever it was. He tried eavesdropping on the conversations around him to find out who it was, but all he could hear was, "I brung this so he can sign it!"
As Springer got closer to the front of the line, one of Gus' sons shoved an oversize cardboard cover of the latest ShapeShifter album in his hands. "Here. You'll need this."
Springer stared at it in shock. No way. No fucking way. There was just no fucking way on this planet that he'd chanced into an in-store signing with someone from ShapeShifter. If only it was Eric… if only he could tell him what getting on stage with him at the Musical Hanukkah Celebration had meant. If only…
If only Springer's luck didn't suck. Seriously about that no fucking way bit. By the time he'd get up there, it'd turn out to be the other two. Or the drummer. Or Eric would get up and leave right before Springer could make eye contact with him or…
And then it was his turn, and it was Eric and …
Springer's mouth went dry. He tried swirling his tongue around in his mouth. Nothing.
Eric was looking at him. Hard. "I've seen you around somewhere…" the guitar god said.
Springer nodded and tried for words as he set the cover flat down on the table between them. "Musical…"
"Musical? Like South Pacific?"
Springer shook his head and held his hands up in Air Guitar position.
Eric nodded. "You won a jam with us at the Musical Hanukkah Celebration."
Springer nodded and just like that, the saliva returned to his mouth. So did the words. "That was so fucking cool to do. Man, if I could win it again next year, my life would be set, know that?"
Part of him stared in terror as his mouth kept flapping, spilling the worst case of the runs Springer'd had since the time he ate that bad bean burrito.
Eric was good about it, nodding and signing the cover flat Springer had set down, then flipping it over and writing something else.
Until he handed it back and made a motion with his head that Springer should step aside, the words kept coming. For all Springer knew, he was telling the guy about the time he lost his virginity. Or the stories his mom liked to torture him with, all about his potty training. Or …
Before he knew what had happened, Springer was out on the street, still babbling. That part of his brain that hadn't turned to mush was screaming at him, as angry as a brain could be.
He'd blown it. He'd been right there with Eric and hadn't said a single one of those things he'd needed to tell the man.
When he got back to his car and tossed the cover flat on the passenger side, too disgusted with himself to care about it, the words on back caught his eye. "See ya at the next Celebration."
Springer sat in the car and hugged himself. Maybe he wasn't such a fuck-up after all.
Haven't met Springer yet? I created him last winter, for the Second Annual Musical Hanukkah Celebration. (This link will take you to the genesis of the idea) Be sure to stop in for this year's fun. In the meantime, click on his name, or on ShapeShifter's, or Eric's and learn more about this fictional band who rules Springer's world.
Good thing dreaming was free. Since scrambling to put all that money together for the ShapeShifter Musical Hanukkah Celebration last December, Springer had been broke. His car insurance had come due, and since he had a job, Dad had made him cough up the cash for it.
"Son, you don't pay rent," Dad had pointed out.
Springer kept his mouth shut and handed over fifty bucks from his pay each week. That left him with just enough to fill his gas tank, although lately that hadn't been so easy, either. Springer had made his girl do some of the driving, but she hadn't been happy about it, and she let him know it.
Doing shit with her hadn't been happening much lately. Springer didn't want to think too much about that. He didn't want to think about much -- he just wanted to drop into Guitars by Gus and dream a little.
The shop was buzzing when he walked in. No one noticed him come through the door, which wasn't normal. Usually, you walked in and Gus himself or one of his kids was there to say hi. Today, no one.
That's because people were packed in. It was like someone was giving a clinic, one everyone else in town had known about, probably because they stopped in more often than once every few months.
Springer craned his neck, trying to see who was the cause of all the excitement.
No go.
He turned around and read the flyers taped to the front door, trying to read signs that weren't facing him. If there was anything there about a clinic today, he couldn't see it. Maybe it had been taken down.
Three people came in behind him, pushing Springer into the line to meet whoever it was. He tried eavesdropping on the conversations around him to find out who it was, but all he could hear was, "I brung this so he can sign it!"
As Springer got closer to the front of the line, one of Gus' sons shoved an oversize cardboard cover of the latest ShapeShifter album in his hands. "Here. You'll need this."
Springer stared at it in shock. No way. No fucking way. There was just no fucking way on this planet that he'd chanced into an in-store signing with someone from ShapeShifter. If only it was Eric… if only he could tell him what getting on stage with him at the Musical Hanukkah Celebration had meant. If only…
If only Springer's luck didn't suck. Seriously about that no fucking way bit. By the time he'd get up there, it'd turn out to be the other two. Or the drummer. Or Eric would get up and leave right before Springer could make eye contact with him or…
And then it was his turn, and it was Eric and …
Springer's mouth went dry. He tried swirling his tongue around in his mouth. Nothing.
Eric was looking at him. Hard. "I've seen you around somewhere…" the guitar god said.
Springer nodded and tried for words as he set the cover flat down on the table between them. "Musical…"
"Musical? Like South Pacific?"
Springer shook his head and held his hands up in Air Guitar position.
Eric nodded. "You won a jam with us at the Musical Hanukkah Celebration."
Springer nodded and just like that, the saliva returned to his mouth. So did the words. "That was so fucking cool to do. Man, if I could win it again next year, my life would be set, know that?"
Part of him stared in terror as his mouth kept flapping, spilling the worst case of the runs Springer'd had since the time he ate that bad bean burrito.
Eric was good about it, nodding and signing the cover flat Springer had set down, then flipping it over and writing something else.
Until he handed it back and made a motion with his head that Springer should step aside, the words kept coming. For all Springer knew, he was telling the guy about the time he lost his virginity. Or the stories his mom liked to torture him with, all about his potty training. Or …
Before he knew what had happened, Springer was out on the street, still babbling. That part of his brain that hadn't turned to mush was screaming at him, as angry as a brain could be.
He'd blown it. He'd been right there with Eric and hadn't said a single one of those things he'd needed to tell the man.
When he got back to his car and tossed the cover flat on the passenger side, too disgusted with himself to care about it, the words on back caught his eye. "See ya at the next Celebration."
Springer sat in the car and hugged himself. Maybe he wasn't such a fuck-up after all.
Haven't met Springer yet? I created him last winter, for the Second Annual Musical Hanukkah Celebration. (This link will take you to the genesis of the idea) Be sure to stop in for this year's fun. In the meantime, click on his name, or on ShapeShifter's, or Eric's and learn more about this fictional band who rules Springer's world.
Labels: creative writing, Eric, fiction, ShapeShifter, Springer, Sunday Scribblings
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Fiction Outtake: The Day After (The Springer Saga)
Before we launch into the fiction, I want to point you guys to my bud Bunnygirl. Yeah, click on her name. She's going to hold a flash fiction carnival and you KNOW you want to be part of it.
And now, the end of the Springer Saga. Sort of.
Springer stretched out in the hammock in the back yard, chewing on a piece of grass and fingering his pipe, wondering if he wanted a smoke. Who needed to smoke when they'd been on stage with the best band on the planet? The day was cloudy, and it seemed that every single cloud he saw reminded him of something from the night before.
That cloud over Springer's head was his guitar. He'd changed the strings before the show. He'd polished the body, checked the pickups, made sure the knobs and dials were all working. It was a guess how to tune it, since ShapeShifter played in a bunch of different keys, but the roadies backstage had given everyone's guitars a super quick tuning when they'd been assigned their songs.
Even though he hadn't been able to pick out the sound of his specific guitar over the other two lottery winners on stage with him, not to mention Eric and that Walter dude everyone but him seemed to dig, he'd been there, onstage with ShapeShifter. The only time he'd been able to hear himself was when he'd hit that wrong note, but no one else seemed to notice. They probably figured it was that bass player who must've picked up a bass after he'd won the lottery for a spot onstage with the band.
That big, fluffy, high one was how he felt. He'd never been on stage before and being up there, with the lights shining down on his head until it felt like his hair would catch on fire and looking out at the crowd who was screaming, yelling, and singing along… He understood a lot more now, that was for sure. He understood why guys in bands put up with so much shit and what they meant when they said it was in their blood.
Problem was, Springer wasn't sure it was in his blood. He'd watched Eric's fingers and realized how much better the guy was. That the parts Springer was playing were dumbed down and basic. You had to be good to get as big as ShapeShifter. Better than Springer had realized. It was that simple.
That wispy cloud, the one that was hard to see, that was how he'd felt after the song ended, when the roadies or whoever they were came and herded him and the other two off the stage. There weren't even handshakes to say thanks; the band kept playing and the next two were already coming out for their chance to jam. The roadies had helped him unplug, had given him his commemorative picks, and showed him to the safe place for storing his guitar so he could go back around front and watch the rest of the show. It had run smooth and all, but was it all it'd been supposed to be?
He didn't want to say no. But saying yes wasn't right, either.
That didn't mean he wasn't saving up for next year already. Maybe it'd be different. Maybe Eric would remember him. Maybe he'd find a better job and be able to afford some guitar lessons. There had to be a way.
Maybe there was the stage in his blood after all.
Yep, it's Sunday night and Monday, so take a ride on Rhian's Poetry Train! The only rules are that there are no rules, so come take part in the fun.
And now, the end of the Springer Saga. Sort of.
Springer stretched out in the hammock in the back yard, chewing on a piece of grass and fingering his pipe, wondering if he wanted a smoke. Who needed to smoke when they'd been on stage with the best band on the planet? The day was cloudy, and it seemed that every single cloud he saw reminded him of something from the night before.
That cloud over Springer's head was his guitar. He'd changed the strings before the show. He'd polished the body, checked the pickups, made sure the knobs and dials were all working. It was a guess how to tune it, since ShapeShifter played in a bunch of different keys, but the roadies backstage had given everyone's guitars a super quick tuning when they'd been assigned their songs.
Even though he hadn't been able to pick out the sound of his specific guitar over the other two lottery winners on stage with him, not to mention Eric and that Walter dude everyone but him seemed to dig, he'd been there, onstage with ShapeShifter. The only time he'd been able to hear himself was when he'd hit that wrong note, but no one else seemed to notice. They probably figured it was that bass player who must've picked up a bass after he'd won the lottery for a spot onstage with the band.
That big, fluffy, high one was how he felt. He'd never been on stage before and being up there, with the lights shining down on his head until it felt like his hair would catch on fire and looking out at the crowd who was screaming, yelling, and singing along… He understood a lot more now, that was for sure. He understood why guys in bands put up with so much shit and what they meant when they said it was in their blood.
Problem was, Springer wasn't sure it was in his blood. He'd watched Eric's fingers and realized how much better the guy was. That the parts Springer was playing were dumbed down and basic. You had to be good to get as big as ShapeShifter. Better than Springer had realized. It was that simple.
That wispy cloud, the one that was hard to see, that was how he'd felt after the song ended, when the roadies or whoever they were came and herded him and the other two off the stage. There weren't even handshakes to say thanks; the band kept playing and the next two were already coming out for their chance to jam. The roadies had helped him unplug, had given him his commemorative picks, and showed him to the safe place for storing his guitar so he could go back around front and watch the rest of the show. It had run smooth and all, but was it all it'd been supposed to be?
He didn't want to say no. But saying yes wasn't right, either.
That didn't mean he wasn't saving up for next year already. Maybe it'd be different. Maybe Eric would remember him. Maybe he'd find a better job and be able to afford some guitar lessons. There had to be a way.
Maybe there was the stage in his blood after all.
Yep, it's Sunday night and Monday, so take a ride on Rhian's Poetry Train! The only rules are that there are no rules, so come take part in the fun.
Labels: creative writing, fiction, Musical Hanukkah Celebration, Poetry Train, Springer
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #58 -- Musical Hanukkah Wrap-up
Just joining us? Where have you been the past ten days?
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will try to link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Confused? Missed an episode or two? Well. It all started back here, last year. I thought it was such a cool idea that bringing it back this year was a no-brainer. It began here, with the introduction of Springer, a fan who desperately wants ShapeShifter's lead guitarist, Eric Wallace, to notice him. It continued here, with last week's Thursday Thirteen. I took us back to Springer, since many had questions about him, but the plot thickened. And since I love the guy, we spent the day of the show with Mitchell. Stay tuned for some final wrap-ups from Springer.
 |
1. Monday's Musical Hanukkah Benefit raised $9k, just from the ticket sales. 2. All 200 t-shirts were sold, for $30 each. That makes for another $6k. 3. ShapeShifter matched that money and gave it to a program in Riverview that's going to keep music in local schools. 4. Then they said they were giving an equal $30k to one of the national music in the schools organization. 5. That's 60 thousand dollars. $45k of which comes right out of the ShapeShifter boys' pockets. 6. There was a Chinese auction of stuff donated by local churches and other religious folk. That raised another thousand, and is also going to stay local. 7. Guests included Hammerhead's Howard the Hammer and Walter Cichewski, as well as a cartoon video featuring the Deadly Metal Hatchet. 8. Our buddy Springer was allowed to jam during ShapeShifter's famous song, Still Life. That's the song that almost everyone asked if they could play along with. Only two got to. Springer's a lucky dude, despite the incident with the cop earlier in the week. 9. He wasn't able to stick around or sneak back on for a second song. 10. Neither was anyone else who was there. Most tried. Many were shown the door for their rather vigorous and sometimes creative efforts. 11. After the show, Springer hung around the backstage door in the hopes that he'd get to see Eric and have a few words with him. He wasn't the only one waiting. 12. Eric must have left through another door. Springer never even got on the same side of the stage as his idol. From that angle, the night was a disappointment. Too bad he didn't think to go to Roach's. 13. Mitchell got off stage, surprised no one by dragging Kerri into the shower with him, hung with fans for a few hours at Roach's, and was in bed around four in the morning. Upon getting up on Tuesday, he realized he didn't have much more to do with himself than he'd had the day before. |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will try to link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Confused? Missed an episode or two? Well. It all started back here, last year. I thought it was such a cool idea that bringing it back this year was a no-brainer. It began here, with the introduction of Springer, a fan who desperately wants ShapeShifter's lead guitarist, Eric Wallace, to notice him. It continued here, with last week's Thursday Thirteen. I took us back to Springer, since many had questions about him, but the plot thickened. And since I love the guy, we spent the day of the show with Mitchell. Stay tuned for some final wrap-ups from Springer.
Labels: Eric, meme, Mitchell, Musical Hanukkah Celebration, Springer, Thursday Thirteen
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Dents (The Springer Saga)
If you missed the start of the saga, go here. For more details about the Musical Hanukkah Celebration, go here or here. And if you want to know what comes next, stick around...
Springer froze. That had just not happened. That cop had not hit him.
And of course, since it was a cop and cops were never wrong, it'd all be Springer's fault, even though he'd been doing nothing wrong, just sitting at a red light, behind another car. At least he hadn't hit that other car.
The cop was out of his car, looking at the damage. Springer didn't know what to do, since this was a cop involved. Cops hated it when you got out of your car. They tasered you and shit.
Then the cop was back in his car, on the radio. And his lights were on, too.
Springer groaned. He'd finally earned that last thirty bucks for the show. He'd even gotten lucky and won the lottery and was going to jam with the band. He needed to be home practicing, getting as good as he could get in a few days so that when he hit the stage with ShapeShifter, Eric would notice how good he was and offer to help him out. Give him pointers and shit.
And now… he'd have all these stupid repairs. As if working overnights for time and a half hadn't been hard enough, now he'd have to do more of it. Months of it. Time and a half sounded good until you realized it was only three bucks more an hour, and most of that went to Uncle Sam.
The cop came over to him. "Pull over in that parking lot," he said, and left just as fast.
Springer wondered if he smelled bad or something. He pulled the car to the parking lot the cop had pointed at and waited.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of what it would be like to be on that stage on Monday. It was the only way he could get through this without going ballistic. He couldn't afford to get tasered. Not with the show so close.
As I said, stay tuned for more 'cause the concert itself is coming up on Monday night. (Just a reminder, this is all fiction!!) However, if you'd like to spread some Hanukkah love, check this:
Simonne at All Tips And Tricks is having a group writing project asking…’What is Your Best Blogging Achievement?’ You can see the entries here. I vote for Shelly to win. You should, too.
Springer froze. That had just not happened. That cop had not hit him.
And of course, since it was a cop and cops were never wrong, it'd all be Springer's fault, even though he'd been doing nothing wrong, just sitting at a red light, behind another car. At least he hadn't hit that other car.
The cop was out of his car, looking at the damage. Springer didn't know what to do, since this was a cop involved. Cops hated it when you got out of your car. They tasered you and shit.
Then the cop was back in his car, on the radio. And his lights were on, too.
Springer groaned. He'd finally earned that last thirty bucks for the show. He'd even gotten lucky and won the lottery and was going to jam with the band. He needed to be home practicing, getting as good as he could get in a few days so that when he hit the stage with ShapeShifter, Eric would notice how good he was and offer to help him out. Give him pointers and shit.
And now… he'd have all these stupid repairs. As if working overnights for time and a half hadn't been hard enough, now he'd have to do more of it. Months of it. Time and a half sounded good until you realized it was only three bucks more an hour, and most of that went to Uncle Sam.
The cop came over to him. "Pull over in that parking lot," he said, and left just as fast.
Springer wondered if he smelled bad or something. He pulled the car to the parking lot the cop had pointed at and waited.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of what it would be like to be on that stage on Monday. It was the only way he could get through this without going ballistic. He couldn't afford to get tasered. Not with the show so close.
As I said, stay tuned for more 'cause the concert itself is coming up on Monday night. (Just a reminder, this is all fiction!!) However, if you'd like to spread some Hanukkah love, check this:
Simonne at All Tips And Tricks is having a group writing project asking…’What is Your Best Blogging Achievement?’ You can see the entries here. I vote for Shelly to win. You should, too.
Labels: creative writing, fiction, Musical Hanukkah Celebration, outtake, Riverview USA, Springer
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Thirty Bucks
If you weren't around last year for the Musical Hanukkah Celebration, NOW is the moment to catch up! Hanukkah starts Tuesday night, and I'll have a little gift for you this year, too, along with some fun posts.
It hadn't been hard to raise the sixty dollars. Take the girl out to Roach's instead of Big Bucks. Skip a movie here, work an extra overnight there. And soon, Springer had tucked that sixty bucks away inside that one pair of underwear his grandma had given him, the flannel boxers with reindeers on them that she'd thought were so cute, she couldn't resist. Even Springer's mom resisted so much as touching them, making them a safe place to hide every important thing he owned. It wasn't much: a pipe, his ShapeShifter guitar pick collection, and his precious sixty bucks.
If Grandma had given him the cash instead of those dreadful boxers, he'd be able to make up the difference he was now facing. Boomer at KRVR had gone on the air two weeks ago and said that since last year's show sold out so fast and since it's all for charity, ticket and jam prices went up. It was worth it, Boomer said. It was a chance to help kids who needed help.
What about him, Springer wondered. No one was helping him that he could see. He had to stop over at Grandma's once a week and mow her lawn and take out her trash and do anything else around the house that she needed him, even though baiting the mousetraps in the basement grossed him out. Emptying them made him yak, every time. And then he had to clean that up, too.
It wasn't fair. And what made it worse was that here he was, spending a year ponying up the cash he thought he needed, only to hear that nope, he needed fifteen bucks for the ticket and seventy five for the jam instead of ten and fifty.
He needed thirty bucks, and fast. Tickets were going on sale in a week, up at KRVR's studios again. No lines, no sleeping out, no nothing. The only good news was that this year, there'd be an extra fifty people allowed in. But still, only fifty allowed to jam. They couldn't bend on that one, or they'd be going all night long.
It wasn't fair. If only Springer could get up there with ShapeShifter and show them how good he could play, they'd come up to him after and help him out, the way they'd helped out those guys in Deadly Metal Hatchet, who sucked. But because they'd toured with ShapeShifter, they were someone. Same for Hammerhead, even though they didn't suck.
Thirty bucks.
Springer leaned over to the radio. Boomer was talking about it some more. People had questions. She was answering.
"The way the jam session will work is that if you want to jam, you'll get a lottery ticket. If we pull your ticket, you have twenty-four hours to get your seventy-five big ones down here to the KRVR studios or we pull someone else's name."
Springer figured that meant he had a week and a day to round up that extra thirty bucks. Maybe his girl would front him the cash if he promised to take her to Big Buck's once he paid it back. She had the cash. She always had cash, even though she wouldn't buy dinner when they went out. Thirty bucks shouldn't be hard. Maybe he'd cut back on the cigarettes. Work a few more overnights, as much as he hated them.
There had to be a way. Because once he got up there with ShapeShifter, it'd all start to happen for him. He just knew it. He could taste it.
Let me know if you like Springer and want to see more of him! I sort of like the dude, myself.
It hadn't been hard to raise the sixty dollars. Take the girl out to Roach's instead of Big Bucks. Skip a movie here, work an extra overnight there. And soon, Springer had tucked that sixty bucks away inside that one pair of underwear his grandma had given him, the flannel boxers with reindeers on them that she'd thought were so cute, she couldn't resist. Even Springer's mom resisted so much as touching them, making them a safe place to hide every important thing he owned. It wasn't much: a pipe, his ShapeShifter guitar pick collection, and his precious sixty bucks.
If Grandma had given him the cash instead of those dreadful boxers, he'd be able to make up the difference he was now facing. Boomer at KRVR had gone on the air two weeks ago and said that since last year's show sold out so fast and since it's all for charity, ticket and jam prices went up. It was worth it, Boomer said. It was a chance to help kids who needed help.
What about him, Springer wondered. No one was helping him that he could see. He had to stop over at Grandma's once a week and mow her lawn and take out her trash and do anything else around the house that she needed him, even though baiting the mousetraps in the basement grossed him out. Emptying them made him yak, every time. And then he had to clean that up, too.
It wasn't fair. And what made it worse was that here he was, spending a year ponying up the cash he thought he needed, only to hear that nope, he needed fifteen bucks for the ticket and seventy five for the jam instead of ten and fifty.
He needed thirty bucks, and fast. Tickets were going on sale in a week, up at KRVR's studios again. No lines, no sleeping out, no nothing. The only good news was that this year, there'd be an extra fifty people allowed in. But still, only fifty allowed to jam. They couldn't bend on that one, or they'd be going all night long.
It wasn't fair. If only Springer could get up there with ShapeShifter and show them how good he could play, they'd come up to him after and help him out, the way they'd helped out those guys in Deadly Metal Hatchet, who sucked. But because they'd toured with ShapeShifter, they were someone. Same for Hammerhead, even though they didn't suck.
Thirty bucks.
Springer leaned over to the radio. Boomer was talking about it some more. People had questions. She was answering.
"The way the jam session will work is that if you want to jam, you'll get a lottery ticket. If we pull your ticket, you have twenty-four hours to get your seventy-five big ones down here to the KRVR studios or we pull someone else's name."
Springer figured that meant he had a week and a day to round up that extra thirty bucks. Maybe his girl would front him the cash if he promised to take her to Big Buck's once he paid it back. She had the cash. She always had cash, even though she wouldn't buy dinner when they went out. Thirty bucks shouldn't be hard. Maybe he'd cut back on the cigarettes. Work a few more overnights, as much as he hated them.
There had to be a way. Because once he got up there with ShapeShifter, it'd all start to happen for him. He just knew it. He could taste it.
Let me know if you like Springer and want to see more of him! I sort of like the dude, myself.
Labels: creative writing, fiction, Hanukkah, Musical Hanukkah Celebration, Springer
