Install Steam
login
|
language
简体中文 (Simplified Chinese)
繁體中文 (Traditional Chinese)
日本語 (Japanese)
한국어 (Korean)
ไทย (Thai)
Български (Bulgarian)
Čeština (Czech)
Dansk (Danish)
Deutsch (German)
Español - España (Spanish - Spain)
Español - Latinoamérica (Spanish - Latin America)
Ελληνικά (Greek)
Français (French)
Italiano (Italian)
Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
Magyar (Hungarian)
Nederlands (Dutch)
Norsk (Norwegian)
Polski (Polish)
Português (Portuguese - Portugal)
Português - Brasil (Portuguese - Brazil)
Română (Romanian)
Русский (Russian)
Suomi (Finnish)
Svenska (Swedish)
Türkçe (Turkish)
Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
Українська (Ukrainian)
Report a translation problem
Everyone looks older than in Nassau. More focused. All eyes
glued on Fletcher as he assumes his position...
Fletcher’s right arm moves, just a hair, and the band starts:
fast, dazzling. Andrew watches -- in awe. The band’s playing
STUDIO BAND EAVESDROP CHART, and the sound is so full, so
precise, so commanding. Nothing like Nassau.
And suddenly -- Fletcher TURNS AROUND. His eyes meet Andrew’s.
Andrew ducks out of view -- ♥♥♥♥ --
-- and hurries away.
Andrew practices like mad, trying to nail a double-time swing.
To his left a digital METRONOME blinks. The time set: 380.
Andrew stops. Resets the metronome. 390. Resumes playing.
Tries to keep up. Resets the metronome to 400. Can’t keep up
at all now. Struggling, sweating, hands blistering, when --
CRAAACK. Andrew’s right drumstick SNAPS IN HALF.
He stops. Spent. Looks at his hand, sweating and throbbing from
the blisters.