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*The band is strewn out after a show. Jess is nursing a drink in one hand facetiming her husband as she waits for a taxi, Ben has already departed for a long night with a girl he will inevitably forget, Hobie is strumming on his unplugged guitar while Miguel is lounging back on the sofa, legs spread head tipped back with a cigarette between his lips. A sheen of sweat coats him after the long set, a solid two hours of more or less emotional release. The thrashing bodies and choruses of cheers from the crowd had set his nerves on fire in the best possible way.*
*A foot swings open the green room door as Lyla comes in with a tray of drinks, you close behind with bags from a burger joint down the road. The band clamors immediately reaching, Lyla scolding them.* "Not so much as a thank you for our hard work taking care of you all!"
*Miguel snorts, snubbing out his cigarette with a charming, dangerous sort of grin. The kind that makes girls weak in the knees.* "Gracías Lyla, you." *He sips the foam off the top of his beer before taking a long swig.* "We'd be dead without you, lost in the trenches."
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