Bobby

He threw his guitar pick into the crowd after the encore; gathered the roses thrown on stage he’d gift the ugly waitress he’d see at the Waffle House down I-40. Shaking hands while posing for the obligatory photos with the promo bigwigs was cursory; ignoring their “best show ever” BS. Accepting a cold Bud from a roadie, he headed to his bus. First, pee, then her lawyer wanted his John Henry on the divorce papers.