Thank You For Your Time
this sketchy ass apartment….this powder on my face….fuck this life man. fuck this life. i wish this jackass would hurry with my drugs. talking to me like he’s my friend. fuck him too. stop fucking talking my ears off. i have a show to do in 30 fucking minutes. Six walked out of the dark apartment leaving Sugar laughing about stories he didnt care to remember. Those “high as a kite" nights that left him feeling like shit when the sun came back. Ending up in LA was supposed to be a dream. A fucking nightmare. Six laughed at himself, “how could i be so naive ?". Humming his own songs, trying to remember this lyrics. Most of his shows now where him in a daze. He never remembers them. It shouldnt be like this. I make music to remember. I make music for……fuck. As he walked into the venue, which was only about 4 blocks down, everyone said their hellos. He walked further down the purple lit hallway to the backstage, running into the owner. “Dont fuck up tonight Six" says the fat fuck. “Dont have a stroke" replied Six. Fuck him too. Backstage was never dull. Lit with the aroma of weed and chatter of coke heads, it was always hard to concentrate before a show. Six chilled in the corner and tuned his guitar. He had an hour to kill before he had to go on. After he was finished with his axe, he went to the bathroom to “clear his mind". It always fascinated him, seeing the white line similar to the chalk of a murder scene disappear right before his eyes. Ironic. While he left the bathroom, the stage manager told him that a couple acts flaked so he would have to hit the stage early. Made no nevermind, Six knew tonights show would be his most memorable. 15 minutes later, it was time. Six stepped on stage in front of the crowd. Every face in the house was on him, but the light covered them. Black silhouettes was all they were. As he began to strum his guitar, he didnt move. The only motion was from his hands and the tapping of his feet. The voice that went into the mic had the crowd in a complete daze. The message clear, he wanted out. The crowd was silent but they paid close attention. After his set, he sat for a moment. Six looked down at his guitar, then without looking back up, sang his last lyrics. “But thank you for your time, then you can thank me for mine. and after thats said, forget it". The revolver he pulled out was a Taurus Judge. He put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
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