Terry loved
singing. He’d done it for getting on twenty years and it was the life he’d
dreamt of when he started.
That’s not
suggesting he’d had dreams it would be glamorous. Getting changed in a yard
full of empty barrels behind a pub was certainly not glamorous by any stretch,
but he’d had to do that again tonight.
No, his
dream had been to simply make a decent living from performing and he was
definitely doing that. He’d never be rich, but he made enough to get by.
He still got
nervous before he went on stage – it was only natural.
Tonight’s
crowd had been about fifty or so and he’d belted out his usual array of covers,
modern and old. He always threw a bit of Elvis into the mix too. Pre-toilet
Elvis, obviously.
The crowd
sang along and danced and had a good time all round. The landlord of the pub
gave him the agreed £40 when he was finished.
Terry loaded
his gear into his car and closed the boot.
Yeah, he
still had it alright. Now he was getting older he wasn’t earning so much and
didn’t have as many gigs each week, but he was still doing ok.
This is what
he told himself as he climbed into his car, reclined his seat an attempted to
fall asleep.
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