Ficlets

Hello, Cleveland, Goodbye

“Ready to rock… ready to rock…,” he murmured to himself over and over again.

“Are! You! Ready! To! Rock!” he screamed. His voice bounced off the cinderblocks.

“Not really,” he replied to the echo.

He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes would’ve been shadowed enough without mascara; with makeup, he looked like a sad, elderly clown looking for a circus to join. Even with three cans of hairspray the platinum spikes were sagging. In ‘83, the spandex would have showed off his abs instead of bulging in the wrong places. Christ! Was he pregnant or something?

In ‘83 he could’ve lifted his spirits by snorting something off a groupie’s stomach. Still could, if he made a few phone calls.

“No way,” he said to the reflection. “Four years, not counting most of January 2005, which we don’t.”

He thought about calling his sponsor.

He could hear the distant thunder of the audience through the cement walls. How had an extinct dinosaur like him filled a stadium after fifteen years of silence?

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