Description
The end of Charlie Monsoon’s tether had been reached. It was the 1st of May which meant he had been on the road for more than three months. Three months and all he had to show was two half finished tracks, a fractured collar bone and an intricate knowledge of the inside of a Midwestern, roadside hotel.
As he lay on his back in another hotel room the same as the last, he wondered, ‘what for..?’. The ghost of past bands and present creative block haunted him. ‘If Skrillex made bangarang in a squat with a laptop and one monitor speaker that was broken, surely I can finish these tracks’ he thought.
Charlie Monsoon rolled onto his good side and pulled open the bedside table draw. He was met with the dried, flattened shell of a long deceased cockroach on its back. For an instant he saw himself from third person, above the bed looking down. Next to the cockroach, his salvation. It was like none other that he’d ever seen. The gold embossed letters read Acid Wash Bible. And as its namesake suggested, the malleable black leather had been replaced by acid washed denim, fraying slightly at the edges.
Charlie was so transfixed he could hardly breathe – at the end of his wire rope, the Acid Wash Bible his salvation. His hands trembled as he opened the front cover. He bent low over the preface page and read aloud;
‘Working hard to make a living
Bringing shelter from the rain
A father’s son left to carry on
Blue denim in his vein’
