by Chris Hlad…

He was glad when his cell buzzed at 11:09 Sunday night; he’d be picking her up from the airport Monday at one P.M., but he still was glad to hear her voice, although the time was a bit strange. He figured the headliner would be in the middle of their set. Maybe they haven’t gone on yet, he thought.

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Chris Hlad is a SoCal native who enjoys surfing, sailing, and dumbing-down his brain every chance he gets. By day Chris works for corporate America because, quite frankly, he is a sadist. By night, he lives the life of a worst-selling author. See more fiction by Chris at cpaulhlad.ghost.io.