Page 3 of Finding Storm

“Levi?”

“Taking a piss.”

I take a long pull on my cigarette. Letting the smoke out slowly, I watch it curl upward toward the ceiling.

“What’s eating at you?”

I bring my eyes down to Raze.

I shrug.

“You think you played shit?”

I laugh and take another pull on my smoke. “You know I didn’t.”

“Then, what the fuck’s wrong with you?”

I lean forward and put my cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table sitting between us. “Since when did you become my shrink?”

“Fuck off. I’m concerned.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it the Jonny stuff again?”

I get compared to Jonny. A lot.

Hell, even my and Raze’s friendship has been compared to Jonny and Jake’s.

Does it drain me? Drive me nuts?

Of course it does.

Hearing how I’ll never live up to the musical standard or success that Jonny had sucks ass.

Think Kurt Cobain. Jonny has been immortalized in the exact same way.

His face and talent frozen forever in time.

Unfortunately for me, unlike Kurt’s offspring, I’m a musician. I play the same instrument as Jonny did.

Therefore, every aspect of my life is measured against his.

My talent, my private life, everything.

Jonny died young. So, I guess if we’re going the same route, I have a few years left in me before my car takes a nosedive into a ravine.

I know; I’m fucking hilarious.

I shrug again. “I don’t know, man. I’m just tired.”

The door flies open, banging against the plasterboard wall.

“Motherfuckers!”

It’s Cash.

“What the fuck are you two pussies doing in here? Braiding each other’s hair?”