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Summary
There was nothing like him, when he was on the stage. No one even came close.
Sweat glistening over his furrowed brow, over his lowered eyelids, stage lights glancing off his piercings. Tattoos a waterfall down his arms. Both hands on the microphone as he crooned into it, electric guitar slung over his bare shoulders. Who was he singing for? With that look on his face, like a prayer.
God, he was everything they said he was.
