This is a rare venture into Al Forbes’ Sunday Photo Fiction project, though it’s already Monday in my corner of the world. If you enjoy this, you may be interested to know that my book of short stories, none of which are remotely like this one, will be free on Kindle for 5 days from 7am on 10th August. Interested parties in the UK are directed here. In the US, it can be found here.
If his cheekbones had been higher, he might have made it. Everyone said so. He had the talent. No one could play guitar like him. And his singing! Women would weep at the sound of his voice. Sadly, his face had more or less the same effect on them and it killed his career.
As one reluctant manager after another told him: you needed looks to cut it in the music industry. It wasn’t fair, they’d say, not the way things would be done if they were in charge, but it was what it was.
He clung on for a year or so, hoping the business would change, learn to look beyond the superficial, but it never did. In the end, he abandoned his dreams of making it on dry land, decided to earn a crust on the cruise ship circuit instead. It was a climb down at first but now he’s happy. The hours aren’t great, but he gets more booty as a pirate than he ever did as a muso.