“It’s all gone.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I just feel terribly.”
“. . . . . .” the drummer chanted. Then turned to his sticks.
“Want to go?”
I had the feeling as in a nightmare of it all being something repeated, something I had been through and that now I must go through again.
“. . . . . .” the drummer sang softly.
“Let’s go,” said Brett. “You don’t mind.”
“. . . . . .” the drummer shouted and grinned at Brett.
“All right,” I said. We got out from the crowd. Brett went to the dressing-room.