The Day Music Faked Its Own Death - a fictional story by David Charles Kramer
Holy Body slammed back another shot of tequila, the amber liquid burning a familiar path down his throat. The cramped confines of the tour bus felt like a sardine can compared to the sprawling concerts he usually graced. This whole tour was a mess. The bus groaned to a halt, engine sputtering its final breaths. "Great," he muttered, tossing his glass into a half-empty bottle collection on the table. Across from him, Mickey Mallens, the seventeen-year-old opening act, barely looked up. He was a good kid, Holy Body would give him that. Talented, too, despite the nasally whine that passed for singing. But the teenager's meteoric rise to fame, fueled by catchy tunes and a savvy manager, felt like a personal slight to Holy Body's hit song after hit song. The tour manager, a greasy-haired man named Frankie "The Fixer" Falucci, burst into the lounge, his face a mask of panic. "Plane's ready, Holy B," he wheezed. "Gotta get you to the next gig....