fervent. So loyal. They followed me across Korea, no matter where I went.
Occasionally, when I did shows abroad, they showed up there as well. Tracking me from city to city. Camping outside the various amphitheaters I played at. Displaying their love by making T-shirts with my face on the front, telling everyone about who I was, my ethos.
When I thought harder about how large of fan base I had, I figured I could leave the Double Dragons. I could just go and never look back. They could never catch up to me, because everything would collapse underneath me. No leadership, no gang.
But then, all of those little guys out there, who needed a couple extra to make their lives easier. They weren’t bad people. They were simply people who had fallen into difficult times.
I couldn’t leave them behind. I just couldn’t. I had to take them with me, not just take the gang out.
Somehow.
I walked along the edges of the stage, giving the crowd my hands, touching my fans. They tickled me, feeling up my forearms, touching my shirt.
“We love you,” they said. There were other people talking in the midst of all of the confusion, but you could barely hear them over the constant blast and pound of drums echoing behind me.
I couldn’t really blame them for all of the nonsense they told me. Most of the crowd was high as hell, dancing wildly, shaking their hips and gyrating against their spouses. Neon lights swirled in the air, strobes bouncing across the metal of the stage and the various faces of the crowd. People drank beers and hard liquor, some popping pills instead closer to the back. In the wings of the amphitheater was where you found those who were absolutely balls-to-walls zonked to hell.
They’d probably find themselves dead within a couple of weeks, those junkies.
Sold out, it looked like. People spilled over the top of the amphitheater seats, wrapping around the outside of the gates, stretching way into the blackness even beyond the parking lot lights. It was almost as if everyone in Korea had come to see one of the biggest names in pop music at his prime.
We finished the eighth song. Everyone screamed, roared. I thought the entire theater would collapse from under the weight of everyone’s ravenous excitement. Their stomping feet, their constant voices bouncing into my head, causing a crush of sonic boom.
“Thank you, Korea,” I said, bowing. “You want to hear more?”
Yes, of course they did.
Way out on the left side of the darkness, near a pair of people snorting coke, Hae-il finally surfaced. He looked sweaty—I could tell even from far away but he was dripping—and seemed as if he had just gotten into a fight.
His skin looked marbled with bruises. He seemed really tired as well, haggard, crouching low against the ground, and catching himself with his hands against his knees. His face contorted into a frown, and then he glanced up at me.
I spied him with my right eye, keeping the crowd in my peripheral vision. I couldn’t lose sight of them. But I couldn’t lose sight of him either.
Something was happening, something big. Something wrong. I had one of those creepy feelings crawl into my soul, sort of like when you can tell when someone is looking at you—all of the hairs on the back of your neck just stand up. And goosebumps spread from your toes all the way up your legs, to the very center of your face.
Something wrong. Very wrong.
Hae-il wended his way around the crowd with a team of Double Dragons by his side. Normally, by this hour, close to midnight, they would be focused on distributing more and more product.
Getting out all of the methamphetamine we could.
Our worst sellers, weed, had to be pushed to those who didn’t really like toking up in the first place. By now, their defenses would be down, and they would be in the spirit to light a couple of joints.
But why wasn’t Hae-il doing what he
Occasionally, when I did shows abroad, they showed up there as well. Tracking me from city to city. Camping outside the various amphitheaters I played at. Displaying their love by making T-shirts with my face on the front, telling everyone about who I was, my ethos.
When I thought harder about how large of fan base I had, I figured I could leave the Double Dragons. I could just go and never look back. They could never catch up to me, because everything would collapse underneath me. No leadership, no gang.
But then, all of those little guys out there, who needed a couple extra to make their lives easier. They weren’t bad people. They were simply people who had fallen into difficult times.
I couldn’t leave them behind. I just couldn’t. I had to take them with me, not just take the gang out.
Somehow.
I walked along the edges of the stage, giving the crowd my hands, touching my fans. They tickled me, feeling up my forearms, touching my shirt.
“We love you,” they said. There were other people talking in the midst of all of the confusion, but you could barely hear them over the constant blast and pound of drums echoing behind me.
I couldn’t really blame them for all of the nonsense they told me. Most of the crowd was high as hell, dancing wildly, shaking their hips and gyrating against their spouses. Neon lights swirled in the air, strobes bouncing across the metal of the stage and the various faces of the crowd. People drank beers and hard liquor, some popping pills instead closer to the back. In the wings of the amphitheater was where you found those who were absolutely balls-to-walls zonked to hell.
They’d probably find themselves dead within a couple of weeks, those junkies.
Sold out, it looked like. People spilled over the top of the amphitheater seats, wrapping around the outside of the gates, stretching way into the blackness even beyond the parking lot lights. It was almost as if everyone in Korea had come to see one of the biggest names in pop music at his prime.
We finished the eighth song. Everyone screamed, roared. I thought the entire theater would collapse from under the weight of everyone’s ravenous excitement. Their stomping feet, their constant voices bouncing into my head, causing a crush of sonic boom.
“Thank you, Korea,” I said, bowing. “You want to hear more?”
Yes, of course they did.
Way out on the left side of the darkness, near a pair of people snorting coke, Hae-il finally surfaced. He looked sweaty—I could tell even from far away but he was dripping—and seemed as if he had just gotten into a fight.
His skin looked marbled with bruises. He seemed really tired as well, haggard, crouching low against the ground, and catching himself with his hands against his knees. His face contorted into a frown, and then he glanced up at me.
I spied him with my right eye, keeping the crowd in my peripheral vision. I couldn’t lose sight of them. But I couldn’t lose sight of him either.
Something was happening, something big. Something wrong. I had one of those creepy feelings crawl into my soul, sort of like when you can tell when someone is looking at you—all of the hairs on the back of your neck just stand up. And goosebumps spread from your toes all the way up your legs, to the very center of your face.
Something wrong. Very wrong.
Hae-il wended his way around the crowd with a team of Double Dragons by his side. Normally, by this hour, close to midnight, they would be focused on distributing more and more product.
Getting out all of the methamphetamine we could.
Our worst sellers, weed, had to be pushed to those who didn’t really like toking up in the first place. By now, their defenses would be down, and they would be in the spirit to light a couple of joints.
But why wasn’t Hae-il doing what he
Similar Books
