He was dripping with sweat by the time he finished his lengthy drum solo. He looked around the audience for approval and to Joan’s great contempt, he was getting it. Mostly from the guys. In her eyes it had been just one long, boring interruption. The moment she dreaded at every dance she went to. And bands seemed to insist on it. “What the heck?” she thought, “it is a DANCE, not a tribute to crappy drummers.” Scanning the faces illuminated by the stage lights, the drummer’s eyes fell on one with eyes lit up by burning fury.
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