Note – this all came to me all at once. I’m only typing it now. But, man, the powerful feeling of having a character and a story come to me all at once, is nothing I can compare to. It’s a magical power. I feel like a wizard. Like I have no control over what is happening. It’s like being a spectator. It’s like watching a printer come to life and start talking to you by spitting out pages of text. It’s scary and amazing and awesome and overwhelming and exhausting. It’s creativity and I love it, love it, love it.
Stephen paid for his cover charge with two shiny loonies, while looking closely into the doorman’s face, wondering is he could actually see through those dark sunglasses. They were scarred and worn along the frame and arms, skittery white grooves all around pristine black lenses.
“Ain’t polite to stare, boy,” the man said, tapping his think, knobby cane on the tiled floor of the vestibule. “Be sho to member that when yall are insigh.”
The old man laughed.
“They like you to watch,” he said. “But not stare. Thass impolite. Go on, now. Go on and see what The Mouse’s Ear got fo you.”
He cocked his head, indicating the double doors that lead into the club. Stephen swallowed a swallow he thought they only dramatized in movies and went inside, hoping the old man couldn’t hear what Stephen was sure was the galumphing sound of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
The stage was lit with Christmas lights, all along the edges of its T-shape, with hot spot lights pointing from the deejay booth, rendering who ever was behind there in a fearful silhouette.