He gyrates in the light. Pulsating, moving lewdly, like he did in the old days, but now he can hear his breathing above the music and the sweat doesn’t bead, it runs in rivulets, vertical lines matrixing the made-over wrinkles and causing the tight costume to be even more uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter...

They love it. They scream obediently, and drown out the fact that he forgets so many of the lyrics these days. Trained puppies who obey their tired old master, a Napoleon of modern music, conquering the world still, with newer, even louder weapons than last time. Light show, compulsory enjoyment for all, who need to convince themselves that it’s worth the inflated ticket prices.

He looks down and spies a gum wrapper caught under the corner of a monitor speaker, and in the midst of a power ballad he is transported back to France, to so long ago, when he aspired to be a writer, and lived in Avrille. He thinks of the girl, of how he had never found another girl with such total innocence and beauty. He had taken her in a hay loft, and she had cried. The crowd screams, and he realizes that the number has finished.

Mincing sexually to the drum podium he drinks deeply from the bottle containing the magic concoction, the wonderful wizard’s potion that keeps him on his feet. The drummer counts in the next song and he moves to one side of the stage. Once he would scamper impishly all over it, but now it’s five minutes per side then ten in the middle, and everyone’s happy.The show rolls on, and the forty-five minutes seems to last longer than the three hours that he used to play with the band. When they were together. together. the word takes him back to the girl again. He thinks of her thirty times a day and wonders where she is, what she does, would she have him back after all this time. A roar in his ears, he opens his eyes, and the song is over. The set is finished.

He runs off the stage, and, as always, prays that they scream enough for the encore. As always, they do, and he performs his huge hit from thirty years ago. Value for money. Impotent posturing now replaces angry commitment, but the audience don’t know, or won’t admit it.

Reeling from the stage he almost collapses, but the minders know the drill. Rejuvenation in the dressing room as he waits for the girl that his agent always finds, young and vibrant. The drugs kick in, and he’s ready to perform.