Put Your Hands Together

Fiction

She felt, every day as if Rodney Bingenheimer himself would show up and administer last rites to American independent radio.

Sure, there were some internet-only stations doing evocative programming, but the airwaves were a cesspool of corporate pablum, so-called classics that had been played a trillion times, and yanked from Youtube flavors-of-the-moment in a desperate attempt to appeal to kids who didn’t know what a radio dial was for.

Kayla Wronski- Kayla Warr to her listeners, scrolled through a list of local bands deserving of more airplay.

Chuck Lisle gave her twelve minutes an hour- a whopping thirty-six per show to devote to locals. She was one of the lucky ones.

Chuck popped his head in.

“Kay?”

She turned. 

Chuck looked like he had a thorn in his foot.

“You have to introduce The Luberadors tonight at The Fathom. Fatboy and the Stench both tested positive for Covid, and The Stench has symptoms.”