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*Was originally in the ninty forum, but nobody cared. Figured on it being in the wrong forum (and/or just being rubbish :O) ), so i thought i'd see if anyone cares in here...*
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Another night, another town and another unsuspecting bar. He glanced at his watch, an hour or so until he’d have to start competing, he figured. At the bar he ordered a coffee. Never alcohol before he went to work – he’d learned that lesson trying to fight nerves with dutch courage. He knew he was a lightweight at best, and he didn’t want a repeat of that whisky-induced britney incident. ‘Not that nerves would be a problem tonight’, he told himself. ‘Fish in a barrel, these small town no-hopers’.
He slid a 50 pence into the pool table and began to sing quietly to himself as he fired the white down the table.
Gradually, the bar began to fill up. He slipped away to the gents to check his false moustache – losing the trademark pony-tail and goatee had been effective for a while, but recently he’d found himself recognised on a couple of occasions.
Returning to the front of the bar, he found entry forms had been put out. After filling one in, he handed it to a balding man wiring up some speakers.
“You’re keen aren’t you?.. Hang on, don’t I know you..”
“No. I think you must be mistaken”, he replied coldly, slipping into a chair at a shadowy table, dropping his head from the light.
A few competitors came and went, but soon it was his turn. The balding man picked up the microphone:
“Ah, well done, nice try. Now next up it’s Darius, singing Elton John’s ‘Can you feel the love tonight’…”
Returning to his e-reg escort, his £50 prize money in his back pocket, Darius reflected on the evening.
“Foregone conclusion” he muttered to himself. “Damn amateurs don’t even know what karaoke means..”
Opening a tin of baked beans, scooping them from the can with a dirty fork, he reflected on his life, going from town to town, scraping just enough together in karaoke prize money to pay for his petrol and little chef lunches. But beating the local drunk scrubbers who didn’t even know the words without the screen.. it just didn’t feel like enough any more. Maybe he’d carry on for a few more months. A small green glow splashed over his hands as he checked his phone. No, the recruitment lady from the new ‘talent academy’ series hadn’t called back. Maybe tomorrow.
And if not, maybe that rumour about a new series of pop idol…
As he reclined the passenger seat and pulled his blanket around himself, a thin hopeful smile formed on Darius’s face.
Two nights later, ‘The Horse and Hound’ in Salford. Waiting for the prizes to be announced, as a local tart squealed through bridge over troubled water, a small tear rolled onto Darius’s cheek.
---------- ------------------ ------------- ------------- -----------
Another night, another town and another unsuspecting bar. He glanced at his watch, an hour or so until he’d have to start competing, he figured. At the bar he ordered a coffee. Never alcohol before he went to work – he’d learned that lesson trying to fight nerves with dutch courage. He knew he was a lightweight at best, and he didn’t want a repeat of that whisky-induced britney incident. ‘Not that nerves would be a problem tonight’, he told himself. ‘Fish in a barrel, these small town no-hopers’.
He slid a 50 pence into the pool table and began to sing quietly to himself as he fired the white down the table.
Gradually, the bar began to fill up. He slipped away to the gents to check his false moustache – losing the trademark pony-tail and goatee had been effective for a while, but recently he’d found himself recognised on a couple of occasions.
Returning to the front of the bar, he found entry forms had been put out. After filling one in, he handed it to a balding man wiring up some speakers.
“You’re keen aren’t you?.. Hang on, don’t I know you..”
“No. I think you must be mistaken”, he replied coldly, slipping into a chair at a shadowy table, dropping his head from the light.
A few competitors came and went, but soon it was his turn. The balding man picked up the microphone:
“Ah, well done, nice try. Now next up it’s Darius, singing Elton John’s ‘Can you feel the love tonight’…”
Returning to his e-reg escort, his £50 prize money in his back pocket, Darius reflected on the evening.
“Foregone conclusion” he muttered to himself. “Damn amateurs don’t even know what karaoke means..”
Opening a tin of baked beans, scooping them from the can with a dirty fork, he reflected on his life, going from town to town, scraping just enough together in karaoke prize money to pay for his petrol and little chef lunches. But beating the local drunk scrubbers who didn’t even know the words without the screen.. it just didn’t feel like enough any more. Maybe he’d carry on for a few more months. A small green glow splashed over his hands as he checked his phone. No, the recruitment lady from the new ‘talent academy’ series hadn’t called back. Maybe tomorrow.
And if not, maybe that rumour about a new series of pop idol…
As he reclined the passenger seat and pulled his blanket around himself, a thin hopeful smile formed on Darius’s face.
Two nights later, ‘The Horse and Hound’ in Salford. Waiting for the prizes to be announced, as a local tart squealed through bridge over troubled water, a small tear rolled onto Darius’s cheek.
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*Was originally in the ninty forum, but nobody cared. Figured on it being in the wrong forum (and/or just being rubbish :O) ), so i thought i'd see if anyone cares in here...*
---------- ------------------ ------------- ------------- -----------
Another night, another town and another unsuspecting bar. He glanced at his watch, an hour or so until he’d have to start competing, he figured. At the bar he ordered a coffee. Never alcohol before he went to work – he’d learned that lesson trying to fight nerves with dutch courage. He knew he was a lightweight at best, and he didn’t want a repeat of that whisky-induced britney incident. ‘Not that nerves would be a problem tonight’, he told himself. ‘Fish in a barrel, these small town no-hopers’.
He slid a 50 pence into the pool table and began to sing quietly to himself as he fired the white down the table.
Gradually, the bar began to fill up. He slipped away to the gents to check his false moustache – losing the trademark pony-tail and goatee had been effective for a while, but recently he’d found himself recognised on a couple of occasions.
Returning to the front of the bar, he found entry forms had been put out. After filling one in, he handed it to a balding man wiring up some speakers.
“You’re keen aren’t you?.. Hang on, don’t I know you..”
“No. I think you must be mistaken”, he replied coldly, slipping into a chair at a shadowy table, dropping his head from the light.
A few competitors came and went, but soon it was his turn. The balding man picked up the microphone:
“Ah, well done, nice try. Now next up it’s Darius, singing Elton John’s ‘Can you feel the love tonight’…”
Returning to his e-reg escort, his £50 prize money in his back pocket, Darius reflected on the evening.
“Foregone conclusion” he muttered to himself. “Damn amateurs don’t even know what karaoke means..”
Opening a tin of baked beans, scooping them from the can with a dirty fork, he reflected on his life, going from town to town, scraping just enough together in karaoke prize money to pay for his petrol and little chef lunches. But beating the local drunk scrubbers who didn’t even know the words without the screen.. it just didn’t feel like enough any more. Maybe he’d carry on for a few more months. A small green glow splashed over his hands as he checked his phone. No, the recruitment lady from the new ‘talent academy’ series hadn’t called back. Maybe tomorrow.
And if not, maybe that rumour about a new series of pop idol…
As he reclined the passenger seat and pulled his blanket around himself, a thin hopeful smile formed on Darius’s face.
Two nights later, ‘The Horse and Hound’ in Salford. Waiting for the prizes to be announced, as a local tart squealed through bridge over troubled water, a small tear rolled onto Darius’s cheek.
---------- ------------------ ------------- ------------- -----------
Another night, another town and another unsuspecting bar. He glanced at his watch, an hour or so until he’d have to start competing, he figured. At the bar he ordered a coffee. Never alcohol before he went to work – he’d learned that lesson trying to fight nerves with dutch courage. He knew he was a lightweight at best, and he didn’t want a repeat of that whisky-induced britney incident. ‘Not that nerves would be a problem tonight’, he told himself. ‘Fish in a barrel, these small town no-hopers’.
He slid a 50 pence into the pool table and began to sing quietly to himself as he fired the white down the table.
Gradually, the bar began to fill up. He slipped away to the gents to check his false moustache – losing the trademark pony-tail and goatee had been effective for a while, but recently he’d found himself recognised on a couple of occasions.
Returning to the front of the bar, he found entry forms had been put out. After filling one in, he handed it to a balding man wiring up some speakers.
“You’re keen aren’t you?.. Hang on, don’t I know you..”
“No. I think you must be mistaken”, he replied coldly, slipping into a chair at a shadowy table, dropping his head from the light.
A few competitors came and went, but soon it was his turn. The balding man picked up the microphone:
“Ah, well done, nice try. Now next up it’s Darius, singing Elton John’s ‘Can you feel the love tonight’…”
Returning to his e-reg escort, his £50 prize money in his back pocket, Darius reflected on the evening.
“Foregone conclusion” he muttered to himself. “Damn amateurs don’t even know what karaoke means..”
Opening a tin of baked beans, scooping them from the can with a dirty fork, he reflected on his life, going from town to town, scraping just enough together in karaoke prize money to pay for his petrol and little chef lunches. But beating the local drunk scrubbers who didn’t even know the words without the screen.. it just didn’t feel like enough any more. Maybe he’d carry on for a few more months. A small green glow splashed over his hands as he checked his phone. No, the recruitment lady from the new ‘talent academy’ series hadn’t called back. Maybe tomorrow.
And if not, maybe that rumour about a new series of pop idol…
As he reclined the passenger seat and pulled his blanket around himself, a thin hopeful smile formed on Darius’s face.
Two nights later, ‘The Horse and Hound’ in Salford. Waiting for the prizes to be announced, as a local tart squealed through bridge over troubled water, a small tear rolled onto Darius’s cheek.