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Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

Belle woke me up shaking me by the shoulders. “Come on, rock star,” she was saying, “time to go.”

I sat up slowly, waiting for my head to spin, but it didn’t. I knew the fever had broken before I touched my forehead. “I think I feel better.” The sky was dark outside, I realized, looking out her window at the illuminated offices of late workers across Sixth Avenue.

I stared at the glowing windows until she said “Driver’s waiting for you downstairs.”

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Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

The press conference was over but I was thirsty and jittery and my face still felt hot, like I’d gotten sunburned from the bright TV camera lights. I went into the men’s room and splashed my face with water. I slid the elastic out of my hair and let the uncut strands fall over my face. My hands were shaking. “God I hate this,” I said to no one in particular.

“Hate what?” Ziggy was behind me.

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