T-shirts, merch and even CD sales at the shows made it worth the effort and allowed us to continue the illusion being ‘touring musicians’. Well, w... were ‘touring’. And we were ‘musicians’. But we were never going to make a career of this. We were really just extending our adolescent fantasies of sex, drug and rock’n’roll and to that point we hadn’t fully exhausted our options yet. But we were close, despite some real potential.The tour was planned for thirty-five dates, and we averaged four to. A large thirty-six count package of toilet paper topped off Béla’s pack, precariously strapped so that it was pillowed against her head as she hiked along.Béla was glad to be outside again. Although the sunlight hurt inside her head, living behind pristine walls surrounded by those damned, buzzing, fluorescent lights was even more disagreeable.This was one of Béla’s favorite spots. The cabin was already old when she acquired it in the early 1930’s and it was now one of several properties she. It was none other than the bands manager Jim, and Anna was heading across the street to talk to him. Eric not wanting to see how his friend looked at Anna walked back into the bar carrying the bands equipment that would be used during the show. ‘So who you trying to impress?’ Jim asked, as Anna got closer. ‘No one just felt like dressing up. Thought that it might help increase sales, you know how it is. You do what you gotta do right?’ She said with a chuckle. ‘Yeah, I guess. Where’s Eric? Is. No, not a snout- a muzzle. His muzzle is wide, and fur covered, like his chest. The muzzle leads back to… horns? Long, curved, wicked looking horns sprout from his head, one on either side. And then I meet his eyes. Big, deep, brown eyes. Passive, calm. How could something so bestial have such calm looking eyes?The horns, the snout with its big nostrils, the big brown eyes… like a cow. Or a bull.“What are you?” I ask, before even realizing it. Shame heats my cheeks as I realize my rudeness, but.