Neon Requiem from LEATHER TEMPLE by Carpenter Brut

Sometimes a flash of memory would pass through Bret’s mind. Sunday lunches at his grandmother’s, the smell of apple pie, the way she listened with pride to his confidences. School hallways, Kendra passing by with a laugh, and him, dreaming in his bedroom of being a rock star.
He remembered the saturated lights of a stage, the roaring crowd, the guitar solos that made the air vibrate. This was the era when he led Leather Patrol, when the groupies waited for him backstage, when Kendra seemed like the only reason to sing. But the shadows remained: the humiliation from the Slashers, Kendra’s cold gaze, the explosion that burned his face. The tenderness of those memories mixed with the sting of betrayal. The past blurred with the present, an echo of another time and another man. What he had become left no room for nostalgia.

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