This isn’t the first time Ethan had been thrown out of a bar, and probably won’t be the last.

He hit the ground with a thud, landing on his shoulder. Scrambling up with a crack and groan he wiped the blood from his face.

He squared up with the taller and much wider bouncer. The man just gave him a pitiful look and tossed his guitar next to him.

“Go home, Ethan.” He grunted and slammed the door.

“Screw you!” He yelled, his voice overpowered by the loud heavy metal music inside. The music he’s supposed to be playing.

He picked up his guitar. Holding it above his head. Ready to smash it down. He hesitates, his grip tightening. Lowering it, he placed a battered hand against his forehead.

“Screw me…” He puffed out. He dig in his pocket for more torn off phone numbers. Empty, again. He stumbled out of the ally, looking for just one gig.

Passing by a long line of closed stores. His reflection followed him in the dusty windows.

Long dirty blonde hair covered his eyes, his scruffy face smeared in blood. He glared at himself in the window.

A poster caught his eye, its taped tattered edges barely hanging on.

**Musicians Support Group - All Genres Welcome.**

****

The words are barely eligible. The meet up location somewhere on the outskirts of town.

He should have just ignored it, but the starting date was today. It made him shutter but he couldn’t walk away.

He shrugged his shoulders, he had nothing to lose.

The address led him to an abandoned, decaying music hall. From way before his time.

The hair on the back of his neck shot up but he continued inside. This wasn’t his first time exploring abandoned places, and probably not the last.

His shoes banged loudly against the old wood floors in the large auditorium. It was dimly lit, candles haphazardly laid around. A circle of metal chairs stood on the stage. The asses that filled them, were eccentric.

“Ah a new arrival!” A deep baritone voice boomed. “Welcome Sonny!”

He was smartly dressed, suit, tie, sunglasses, the works. He was rather young, around Ethan’s age.

“This..uh..the support group?” Ethan cocked an eyebrow, not having pictured this assembly of people.

“Yessir, I’m Silas. Pleased to have you join us.” He smiles, his teeth crooked. “This lovely lass is Clara, and that fellow is Bernard.” He gestures towards the two other members.

Clara wore an elegant black form fitting dress. Her hair curled up. She smiled broadly, her eyes pale blue.

Barnard was in a tailcoat, little black bow tie and all. His oversized gut pooching out, his buttons straining.

“There’s more of us, but it’s just us today.” Silas spoke softer, a distant tone on his lips.

“Uh yeah..so what do you even do here?” Ethan sat down on one of the very uncomfortable metal chairs. “Attend funerals?”

“You could say that.” Silas laughed, the others joining him. Their symphony of hysteria filling the auditorium.

“Why don’t you join us.” Silas grinned, it did not sound like a question.

“I think I’m good, you can keep the freak show for yourselfs.” Ethan stood, his chair squeaking against the floor.

“I’m real sorry Ethan, you already walked in here.” Silas stood, his frame turning hazy in the candle light. “Life sucks, but we gotta eat.”

This wasn’t Ethan’s first time getting involved in a…troubled group. But this time, It will be his last.