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“Open mic in an hour. Winner gets a hundred bucks and a tab.”

He’d just finished a show—a good one, by all accounts. The crowd sang along to every word of “Dirt Road Dynamite,” and he’d smiled through it like a marionette. Back in the dressing room, he cut a line on a mirror that had a crack running through it—a real one, not the metaphorical kind. He leaned down, and in the fractured reflection, he saw not a star, but a hollow-eyed boy in a bus station, lost and hungry. countryboy crack

He went back to The Copper Spur. The fake wood paneling was still there, the smell of stale beer unchanged. Jade was behind the bar, older now, her crow’s feet deeper. She poured him a seltzer water without asking. “Open mic in an hour