Devon Ainsley flicked his cigarette butt into the almost empty parking lot, wishing sincerely he could flick it into Ryan Harpton’s face.
If Devon was sure of anything, it was that it was his last gig with this or probably any other band.
The cigarette rolled and landed where the pavement was discolored.
Devon hoped he would start a little oil fire.
A car door slammed, startled him.
He looked over at the car, yellowish four-door, stopped on the shoulder of the two-lane, in the shadow of an oil change billboard, looked back at his cigarette, extinguished with no further flame.
A guy walked around the car like he was looking for a flat.
Opened the passenger door, and pulled a woman out by one arm, flinging her to the gravel.
Devon screamed Hey! and ran toward the car, which screeched off down the dark road that wrapped around Kertin County.
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