“Thanks,” he said, wiping his mouth on his white satin sleeve. He picked up a pack of Camels and tore away the cellophane. “Beautiful audience. Not like Sacramento.” He smacked the package against his left palm and ripped at the silver folds. Richard’s hands trembled slightly as he worked his way inside. “It’s so much easier to sing with such pretty girls all around.” He flipped a cigarette out of the tight bundle and stuck it on his lip. Stephen thrust a flame beneath the tip. “Thanks,” mumbled Richard, taking a deep hit of the dry smoke.
Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov