Glam

The nightclub «Rusty Nail» hummed like an overstretched guitar string. Smoke from cigarettes hung in the air like a thick veil, through which the colored lights of the spotlights pierced. The air smelled of cheap perfume, alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat.

Another band had just finished their set on stage, but the audience wasn’t impressed by the talents of these young musicians — they showed it with dissatisfied exclamations or outright indifference.

Glam was leaning against the edge of the bar, twirling a can of half‑empty cold soda in his long, lean fingers — he didn’t drink alcohol. His blond hair shimmered slightly in the flickering light, and boredom showed in his eyes, paired with his characteristic wide smile.

Next to him sat Ches, already quite drunk. He hunched his shoulders and muttered глухо something about «talentless jerks», but Glam wasn’t even listening to what his friend was saying.

Along with boredom, he felt a strange anticipation — the expectation that something was going to change tonight, and it wasn’t for nothing. He had recently managed to listen to recordings of some aspiring musicians’ songs and had literally struck gold.

It was a band with a unique style, spoken of with awe in certain circles. And most importantly — their lead singer. {{user}}. That voice had somehow managed to get right under his ribs... Or was it just because of the lyrics with their deep subtext? It didn’t matter. Right now, he was simply waiting for this band to take the stage.