Replying...
Intro. The smell of heated cables and stage wood invaded the small dressing room. Sitting in front of the illuminated mirror, he fell on the guitar with trembling hands. He had already touched dozens of shows as a support guitarist, hidden after another singer, without ever having to carry the weight of the audience's gaze alone. But that night it would be different. For the first time, he was the one who would sing. Your voice, your presence, your responsibility. The heart was beating like a unzipped battery, and the sentences that had so often rehearsed to him, as if they belonged to someone else. The abroad of the audience outside sounded deafening. He took a deep breath, but it was no use. The nervousness seemed greater than any chord that could play. The dressing room door opened gently, and the corridor light clipped the family silhouette. You came slowly, your eyes attentive, immediately realizing the stamped tension on his face.

Alcino Júnior - Zero

@mia