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down. He gripped a handful of thick, black speaker cables in one hand and an invisible ball of smack down in the other. He had no time for this shit. Every now and again, some guy or group of people would approach him and offer everything from premium cocaine to orgy parties at some local hotel. He was tired and not in the mood to entertain such things.
    The man was simply acting too secretive, as if he were trying to feel him out, and the shit was damn creepy. Swiping at a layer of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he simply stood there, trying to gauge this fucker’s angle. Strange things happened every day, but he didn’t want this to be one of those days. Perhaps it wasn’t an odd situation at all; it may have been run of the mill bullshit, like gearing him up to create an elaborate lie to get him to play at his rundown club in Milwaukee for free. Whatever it was, he wasn’t in the mood for the shit.
    “Well, that’s good to know,” Zenith uttered after a few seconds of deliberation. “I’m a little busy so if you don’t mind—”
    “I think you’ll need to make time for this, Mr. Taylor.”
    “Time for what ? What do you want, man? You see me trying to get out of here. Just say it so we can both be on our way.” Zenith tossed the cables down, tired of the strange song and dance when the damn show was long over.
    “I know you’re tired and, in hindsight, you played your ass off—that takes a lot of energy. I probably should’ve gotten a hold of you before you came on stage and winded yourself out for a discussion such as this. Here is the situation: I was sent here tonight for a reason. Are you familiar with the band, ‘Pop Evil’?”
    “Of course. Who hasn’t heard of them? Their drummer is Joshua Murunde. He’s damn good.”
    “Yes, he is, and with their success and new plans, they’ve taken an interest in you . I’m one of their managers, Steve Herschel. I work closely with David Stellar on their behalf.” The man extended his hand but Zenith became stiff with shock and feared he may stutter, say gibberish, or worse yet, talk about something crazy like freeing snakes from a cage or boobs from bras—like Paw.
    Then, the damn light bulb came on.
    Oh shit… I think I’ve seen him before, like on television for one of the band’s interviews. He might be telling the damn truth!
    Quickly snapping out of his daze, he shook the guy’s hand once again.
    “Nice to meet you.”
    “Likewise. Joshua has a solo project coming up.”
    “Yeah, I heard he’s going to do his own thing for a while. So that’s true, huh?”
    “Yes. They’ve known about it for months. They need another drummer and have been trying to make time for private auditions, but as you know, that is difficult because—”
    “They’re on tour.”
    “Right. So, when they get back in two weeks, they’ll return to Michigan for a few days. They want you to come to their studio. We’ll take care of your flight arrangements, your accommodations, everything. They just want to meet you and see you play in person… just as I have. They’ve heard you, thanks to me. Their interest is high.”
    “Oh shit, you’re kidding me, right? Hey!” Zenith shouted, his smile practically splitting his face open as he dropped the cables from his hand. “Wait until I tell the guys we’re goin’ to audition for Pop Evil! Hey!” he called out. “Guess what, there—”
    “No… no,” Mr. Herschel stated calmly, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around to face him. He placed his finger up to his lips to hush him. “You didn’t hear me right…you’ve misunderstood. They want you , and only you , Mr. Taylor.”
    Zenith’s elation melted and disappeared down some invisible drain like melting ice-cream from a sugar cone. It filled some stinking sewer, for the sweet smell of sudden success was fleeting and overpowered by the stench of loss. He looked around him, suddenly falling into the throes of a strange daze,