Part 4 of Rock and Roll is Dead
Across the bar, Ami was flicking through her notebook of songs and lyrics, glancing at the empty glass and empty seat opposite her.
They would have to play fucking Idlewild at the end of a breakup. Fuck it. It was done.
Call me a fucking bitch. Prick. He’ll be away home to tell his maw all about it. Either that or he’ll be back for an acting award.
She pushed her specs back up her nose and swallowed hard. How the fuck are people together for forty years? she wondered. What the fuck do they talk about?
I mean, come on, dating a dentist? Plenty of money, but the chat? Christ. Putting my guitars away. Fuck off. The cheek of it.
Ah well, fuck him. What’s done is done.
She had lost some security maybe but now she had her freedom. Fair trade.
She browsed her phone; there was the listing. Wednesday night. The open mic would be on down the road. It had been a while, but she had a new song that she was aching to let out into the world.
She looked over to the bar and saw Lauren holding court. She wondered about all the Idlewild songs tonight; it seemed unusual for this bar. Normally it’s all new songs and rock and roll.
She got up and walked to the door. She heard the two lads arguing about Led Zeppelin and online, but she kept walking out into the cold Glasgow night.
She walked along the pavements as the streetlights lit up, and she could hear the thud of bass from the Riverside Dome.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 