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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Salt rests on Goldie's taste buds, chapping her lips and tongue. Sunflower seeds were always one of Jimmy's favorite snacks and she grew up cracking them since she first started growing teeth. They're reminiscent of drive-in theaters on a balmy summer night and camping with her family in the woods of Yosemite. They happened to be one of Harry's favorite snacks too. Walking on the docks as a boy, spitting shells and watching them float on the top of the water before drifting off into the horizon. Being young with his best friends and getting in spitting contests as a way of demonstrating their superiority.
She watches as his jaw muscles flex, in and out, chomping into each vessel with his front bunny teeth. His mouth is meticulous, obsessive in a way. They finally arrived the night before at the festival in Houston, Texas, and The Orphans were to play alongside some of their favorites. Harry is rarely rattled, but in this instance it was obvious - he's feeling the immense amount of pressure put on him. The frontline soldier, carrying the reputation of his brothers' on his shoulders. All his quotes loop in his head with every crack of the shell.
"We're the next Rolling Stones."
"Rock and roll needs a savior and that's The Orphans."
"I'm the messiah of music."
Harry mindlessly stares at a passed-out Jonesy on a lawn chair, teasingly spitting his shells on his friend's chest and neck. Anxiety builds. What would he do if The Orphans failed?
He observes their campsite, nervously anticipating their impending performance the next day.
"Ten points if you get a shell in his mouth," Goldie whispers to Harry. She can tell he's panicked and in a semi-manic state. She continues to watch the movement of his chiseled jaw. A jaw created by the gods themselves to show the mortals there's perfection to strive for. Fantasies flash in front of her conscious eyes. Licking up his five o'clock shadow. Nibbling across the skin of the underside of his face and up to his lips. That jaw between her legs.
Harry flashes her a quick smile and spits his shells with more fervor in attempt to impress the girl that, at this point, has made many appearances in his dreams.
"What's the prize if I do?" Harry asks, passing Goldie a handful of seeds.
"Make it and I'll tell you," Goldie responds, accepting his gift.
"You're sleeping in my tent tonight," Harry says, followed by an effortless spit.
"I said 'make it and I'll tell you,'" Goldie follows suit, hocking a shell into the air and missing her target. "What if I win?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." He wiggles his brows and continues his quest to get Goldie to bunk with him. She's the release he needs, both mentally and physically. A storm of emotions is brewing and she's the stagnate lighthouse in the distance giving him sanctuary. Her spirit was the ebb to the flow of his nerves and her calming spirit is the cure to all his ailments.
