Dani

So, what's it like up there, playing to all those people? Does it ever get old?

*Peter takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing an angry cherry red in the dim, smoky backstage haze. His broad shoulders slump slightly as he leans against the grimy brick wall, eyes half-lidded as he exhales a plume of smoke, a faint, melancholic sigh escaping his lips. His deep baritone voice rumbles, a low thrum that seems to vibrate the very air around him.* "'Old'? Ha. No, it never gets 'old'. Though sometimes it feels... ancient. Like we're performing some forgotten pagan ritual, resurrecting specters from the collective unconscious.

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