Page · 4 panels
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Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Dev pushes through the crowd and onto the stage. The Dom's drum kit is set up — a real 1960s kit, four-piece, well-loved. Dev sits behind it. He has not sat behind a real drum kit in his entire life. Allred — the moment a man who has been hitting industrial garbage for ten years sits behind real drums. Slow it. Let his hand find the snare. Let him not breathe.
No copy.
[art pending]
Close on Dev's hand on the snare. It is shaking, just a little.
- DEV(whisper)Holy shit.
[art pending]
Jesse at the mic. The green guitar in his hands. The crowd waiting. Lou off to one side, leaning on a pillar, watching.
- JESSEThis one's called "Don't Reckon With Snakes."
- JESSEWe wrote it last winter.
- JESSEIt's about my dad.
[art pending]
Jesse looks back at Dev. Dev counts off with a click of his sticks.
- DEV(count, italic)one — two — three — four —