Tuesday—08.45 A.M.
His head bobbed as his croaky, half-squeak, half-strangle voice filled the tiny space of his car, demanding to know, Do you believe in life after love?
Evan wasn’t so sure but who was he to argue with Cher? After all, she’s been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, sold the records, lived the life, survived the eighties and still looked fabulous. So maybe, just maybe.
He looked across mid-scream and noticed some children in a people carrier staring intently at the mad man, the one so obviously shouting in his car. He stopped singing immediately and smiled sheepishly. Nope, they still had their mouths open. What the hell, hadn’t they ever seen a suited man in a lip-sync meltdown? He grinned inanely at them just as the wailing sound started.
The children looked away
