Re: The Disaffected/The Entertainer
Miles knew better than to think adulthood had anything to do with what a person wore, but he also knew things like that were figured out along the way. Teens were either rebellious little shits or they tried too damn hard. There wasn't a part of growing up that seemed to be about the middle line. Learning came hard and answered at the edges, and he suspected there was a reason Nicky clung to youth as hard as he did. Wasn't his place to help the young man, but still made assumptions. Assuming things about people was something else that was universal. He'd never met a man or woman that didn't paint a picture about someone within seconds. Life was messy and no one said it was fair.
"Thanks. Glad for the approbation. Some people can't handle honest." Directness wasn't something a lot of people were comfortable with, but he'd lost any softening he'd had in those first months on the road. Being a musician was brutal and fame sucked so hard sometimes. Taking time to soften shit just wasn't something he was willing to do. He wasn't willing to be anyone's laxative. Take him or leave him. Right this moment he just listened to the story that was made for strumming and drinks with strangers in bars. It was a good story. Not good for Nicky, but good in general. "What felt wrong after four years?" he asked, not batting an eyelash about the gay thing. That was another thing you learned about on the road. Groupies came in all shapes and flavors, and nothing mattered much when you were high and drunk enough. "Not how it went bad, but how did it feel?" Music was about feeling and that was the language Miles spoke.
He shelved the missing people for the moment, and he emptied his drink in a swallow. The truth was that time traveling was as good a guess as any.