Larry had never been in a backstage dressing room before. When they were in the band, the bars and clubs where they’d performed never had anything more than a spare janitorial closet or the men’s restroom where they could get ready. Not that they’d needed more—four college guys needed a mirror to check their hair and make sure there was nothing stuck in their teeth, and they were good to go. They had no costume changes, and if they did have to switch shirts or pants—like the time Doug tore the seat of his jeans or, as happened often, someone spilled beer on them when they were bringing their instruments in through the bar—they changed in the van.
As if Larry needed a reminder of how far his friend had come, he could see it in the room around them.
The sofa Geo sprawled on was black leath
