Well, time has come for me to scoot back up to the Puget Sound for my mom's memorial service. I'm going to try to write, but I have my doubts that I'll get much done. I'll post something if I can, but seriously, don't expect anything until the weekend after this one. Again, maybe earlier but probably not.

Again, since Royal Road has a 500 word count minimum per post, here's a chunk from the chapter "Little Wing":

That night we got to the club where the Sons were playing right when it opened for the night, about an hour before the band was scheduled to take the stage. We’d invited Lee and Jen, but they were going to some other show (I can’t even remember who it was), so it was just Emmy and me.

The place was an old brick-fronted building in the downtown club district, stuck between a cocktail bar and a tacky tourist gift shop. Even that early, there was already a line waiting to get in, and they all went crazy when they spotted Emmy.

I’d thought seeing Emmy get mobbed by the Coolidges’ dogs was something, but seeing all these local hipsters was even more comical. They were torn between wanting to rush up and fawn over Emmy, not wanting to lose their spot in line, and wanting to look too cool to admit they wanted to see her up close.

Ultimately, Emmy had to raise her voice to say that yes, we were going to see the show tonight and if people wanted to come over to our table to say hello, that would be nice.

I would have gotten in line with the crowd, but Emmy was having none of that. She took my hand and led me straight to the door, cutting in front of everybody. The doorman seemed to expect that and didn’t even glance at our tickets, just waved us straight in.

There was a little antechamber, I guess you’d call it, with a counter displaying club merch and also stuff from the band. I liked the new shirt design and thought I’d pick one up later. The blonde girl standing behind the counter hoping to sell the stuff wasn’t Stephanie, I noticed.

At the top of the stairs the entire upper floor was basically one big, long room, with a hardwood planked floor and black-painted rafters. Along one side were old-fashioned diner-style booths, but otherwise it was standing room only- no tables, no chairs.

All but one of the booths had already been claimed, and the only thing keeping the open one from use was the ‘Reserved’ sign on its table. “That one is ours,” Emmy said, pointing to the empty booth. “We should go backstage and say hello before sitting down,” she added, grabbing my hand to pull me to the small side door to the right of the stage.

The security guy stood aside as we walked up, so clearly the staff had been told to expect us (and probably been given a description, if that was even necessary at this point). We went back into the hallway covered in autographs written in permanent marker to a green door. When somebody called out “Come in,” after Emmy knocked, we entered to say hello to the band.

The guys looked pretty much the same as they did back the last time I’d seen them in San Diego, but with a bit more facial hair and a few more piercings and tattoos.

Justin, the bass player, leapt up to give Emmy a hug. To my surprise, he gave me a hug, too. “It’s great seeing you guys!” he exclaimed as the rest of the band crowded around to say hello. Brent being Brent, he just gave a nod to me and said, “Lookin’ good, Leah. Real good.”

“Thanks, Brent. How’re things going for you?”

“Awesome, dude. Just awesome. Living the rock star dream- just livin’ the dream.”

We only spent a few minutes backstage before we returned to the booth being held for us. It seemed as if quite a few people were upset that one of the maybe half-dozen booths in the entire club was off-limits, but when they saw who we were they seemed to be a bit more understanding.

The booth itself was one of those horseshoe-shaped naugahyde things you’d picture in a classic diner, but the color was a strange, unappealing brownish red. Maroon, I think the color is called. Anyway, we sat down and that left room for at least three or four other people, so when Emmy saw a small group looking for a place to sit she invited them to share the booth with us. Emmy was always good like that.

“Thanks!” said the tallest of the three girls as she scooted to the deepest part of the booth.

“My name is Emmy, and this is Leah,” Emmy said, introducing us.

“Um, yeah, we guessed,” said the girl with the hipster glasses and Sons T that she must have just bought.