Taking place in the summer of 1978, the story follows 18-year-old aspiring music journalist, nicknamed Goldie, tasked with following up-and-coming UK rock band - The Orphans - while they do their first tour of the U.S. New to life on the road, Goldi...
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Goldie traces shapes in the dirt with the toe of her sneaker. Puffs of dust build around her feet, dirtying her ankles with a thin layer of brown film. The texture of the ground is a lot like the sandy beaches back home but with more rock and no ocean. Summer sun beats down on her bare shoulders, singing the skin surrounding her tank top's thin spaghetti straps.
"Where the hell is Grimmy? He's been gone for an eternity." Matt paces back and forth in front of the smoking grill of the tour bus. Broken down in the middle of nowhere, the group of young travelers have been waiting for hours outside. Sunlight hitting the aluminium sides of their moving home heated the insides to an unlivable temperature. The Orphans and Goldie took sanctuary in the growing shade and setting sun outside.
"Doris is reliable. She'll be fine." Jonesy hits the front of the bus. "Fuck!" He looks down at his burnt hand. "She just needs a drink is all. Calm down, Doris." Jonesy pours the remainder of his lukewarm beer on the grill, creating a loud hiss from the engine underneath. "Well, damn..."
"I don't think Grimmy's comin' back soon," Niall notes, looking out to the open horizon. "This road stretches for miles. It's late on a Sunday too. I can't imagine a mechanic being open. Only one thing to do!" Niall disappears back into the bus and comes out two arms full of nothing but beer bottles, save one giant handle of whiskey and a half-filled box of popsicles. Slipping on his dark Ray Bans, he sits in the dirt, motioning for everyone to join. "Here you go, Goldie. Before they melt," he says, tossing her the box of frozen treats.
She rolls her eyes and pulls out an orange-flavored popsicle before throwing the box to Jonesy. Pulling back the wrapper, she looks up at Harry, who's already looking at her. "Can I help you?" Goldie giggles, aggressively biting the tip.
Harry laughs, putting his hands out like a football quarterback and signals for Jonesy to throw him one next. He pulls out a grape one for himself. Maintaining eye contact with Goldie, he sinks his bunny teeth into the dessert, taking several quick bites. "Ah, fuck!" He rubs his temples.
"Careful now, Harry," Goldie comments, sitting down next to Niall. Harry shuffles over to her and plops his boney, jean-covered bottom into the dirt. He looks deeply into her eyes and leans in slowly before taking a bite of her orange popsicle. "Hey!" She yells.
"But the orange is so much better!" He cries. "And you got the last one."
Goldie waves the orange scent in his face. "Doesn't that smell delicious? Better than that stick of medicine you have in your hand. I know there was a cherry in there. Who chooses grape?"
"A man with nothing to lose," Harry responds. He goes to take another bite but before he can, Goldie playfully smacks the popsicle out of his hand. "That's it. You're asking for it now!" He tickles her sides, bringing out a loud laugh— part chuckle, part cry. "I'll stop when you give me another bite."
