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The lights dimmed. The band washed onto the stage. Clapping was silenced before its crescendo by a vocalist with a gravelly, raw voice who sang of pain and work, reality and dreams. Horns blew like soft cries. Drums pulsed. The base throbbed. A piano played like a second voice. Everyone froze, mesmerized.


“You tell it, Ray,” Angel called out, her voice shattered with emotion. Charlie’s face had also changed with the sound. He leaned in, as if his ears were reaching, and under the table, his foot kept easy time.

[Excerpt Landslide, Page 35]

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