Gemotions

He had to be there, he told himself. He, Daniel, the composer of *Crimson Tide*. He'd heard a local band was covering it at the Rusty Mug. He parked his battered car two blocks away, suddenly hesitant. His fingers fumbled with the door handle.

He lingered in the doorway, unseen. The band was mid-song, and the lead singer was belting out his lyrics. He felt a flush creep up his neck. The singer’s delivery was… flamboyant. Daniel hadn't intended the song to be performed with such energy.

He leaned against the brickwork, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He could feel sweat prickling his forehead. The music seemed to bounce off the walls, amplified and distorted. He slipped away without a word.