Contemporary
Excerpt
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The smell in the garage is lousy. Old bulbs coated with years of dust and cobwebs don't cast the best light either. But when I pick up my guitar and my fingers find the strings, and that first riff comes screaming out of the amp, the only thing that matters is sound.
Excerpt
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I'm starting to feel dizzy again—and scared. I need to sit down. I make my way slowly to the table and collapse into the moulded plastic chair. On the table is something I hadn't noticed before: a white envelope. With my name on it.
