Gemotions

"I swear," Mark was saying, his voice thick with conviction, "the entire band was ready to quit after that gig!" He was talking about their first actual performance in a dingy bar. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in recollection.

I leaned against the counter of the coffee shop, a small smile teasing my lips. In my version of events, the performance had been… well, bad. But not a disaster. Just a slightly off-key disaster. I felt a bubble of warmth in my chest.

Mark continued to describe the heckling from the audience, the equipment malfunctions, and the overall despair. I remembered a couple of drunken cheers, a few sympathetic glances, and then us all going back to a single shared pizza.

He finished his story with a dramatic sigh. I covered my mouth with a hand, the corners of my eyes crinkling. "So, when are we going to record an album?" he asked. I fought a fresh wave of bubbling joy.