Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

I ended up in the parking lot of a Circle K, at the pay phone on the outside of the building, on the phone to Carynne.

“Daron, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not crying. What the hell makes you ask that?”

“Well, you sound upset.”

“I am upset.” I was not crying.
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Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

The promoter’s guy, it turned out, had friends who ran a Moroccan restaurant and they often took bands there after a show for a little decadence and graft. Unlike some towns, Frisco had several competing promoters and they wanted to curry some favor. Pun intended. We went along with free ( Read more... )

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

It was when I made one more trip to the men’s room that I overheard something I probably wasn’t meant to. Okay, I know I wasn’t meant to by the people talking, that is.

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Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

The girl behind the monitor’s name was Bailey. She unlocked a little office upstairs in the back so Carynne could make a few phone calls, but C. instead sat and motioned for me to close the door behind me and join her. “Mister Zee’s off the edge,” she said as she sat down behind an empty ( Read more... )