The room was mostly empty when you arrived. Folding chairs in uneven rows. A stage barely raised off the floor. The smell of old carpet and cheap beer.

First band on. Four songs, all noise. The few people scattered around clapped politely.

You set up in the gap between sets. Cables. Amps. The usual ritual.

Malcolm was already there, of course. He was always early. He stood by the side door with a cup of coffee, bobbing his head to nothing.

Or someone.