Title: Jukebox Hero
Author: Jag. Ich. Me. Yo. THE EARTHQUAKE. THE COMETS COME.
Warnings: None, I'm not in a mature mood right now, and besides, Foreigner aren't too much of an M or X rated band... so the song didn't really inspire me to anything other than , well, a jukebox hero.
Notes: Blah blah, Foreigner, blah blah, and I've had too much coffee, and my cat is officially not coming back to me, and blah.
The microphone almost fell from his sweat sheened Hand. He took it up again, gripping its hilt so tight his knuckles cracked, and sang like his life depended on it. And in a way, it did. If he didn't make an impression with this gig, he would have to go live on the street. Back where his parents could find him, pick him out like a pigeon picks a black piece of corn from the rest, and he'd be dead. Maybe literally... who knew? So he needed to land an impression, and make it a good one. He yelled into the microphone head, his voice reaching pitches that made it break, his entire body rigid with anticipation, his throat raw from screaming. But he didn't care; this was his moment. His time to shine. And he did leave quite the impression.
Newcomers to the bar turned their heads to see who he was, and several tossed him a dollar or a few coins. Those who had been watching him for a while would steadily toss five-dollar bills at him. He didn't stop, didn't even break for water, until well into the night. And by then, everyone knew which club they'd be coming to in the future. Which other club featured free concerts from Snakes 'N' Barrels?