8
Silas waited until the last power cord of the song faded away into the screams of the crowd. Cheers, screams, and the occasional beer bottle washed over him as he held his guitar, hand poised over the strings like there was one more cord coming, one more note. But no, they were done; Silas just wanted to bask in it.
He grabbed the mic, "f**k yeah! We are The Possessed. We'll be back here again next Tuesday." He kicked over the mic stand and put his guitar back on its stand.
A CD started over the PA system, and the crowd thinned. The place would stay lively for a while, but with the show was over, it would slowly begin to die down. For Silas, however, the night was just beginning.
He grabbed the half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting on top of his amp, hopped down from the stage
