Hey! Hehe!
Roar! Roar-roar!
The noise just keeps thumping!
One beam of light, one tiny stage, one voice, one melody, one night.
Life seems to slip back to its simplest, rawest form. For a moment, you forget the heavy mortgage, the annoying kids, the awful boss, the dull job… all of it fades away. Right now, it's just you, a beer, and the music in your ears—that's everything.
The song carries your heart, the melody builds a bridge, and a look reignites your passion. Everyone in the bar's swept into the same world—pure, wild fun!
Life can still be simple, huh?
Clap! Clap-clap!
Stomp! Stomp-stomp!
The sound's electric—thunderous!
Some clap, some jump, some cheer, some hum, some laugh out loud.
The whole "Noon" bar's buzzing like crazy. Every patron's caught up in their own way, and that palm-sized stage turns the place into a legit live show. It's like a concert—no one's sitting this out! Ties come off, and the crowd goes wild.
The booming noise gets the air buzzing, a hot, pulsing energy dancing on your skin. Sweat turns to steam in the sharp, scorching heat, fogging up the room. The summer sunset ignites, blazing bright!
This performance? It's got you lost in the moment.
Before you know it, more people trickle in. It's not even 7 p.m., but half the seats are taken. Thursday evening's heating up early! The joy and excitement in everyone's eyes melt the tension away—no booze needed, they're already drunk on the vibe.
Every gaze locks onto the figure rocking the stage—drenched in sweat, cheeks flushed, eyes shining.
A plain white tee, jeans, and sneakers—nothing fancy, but radiating youthful energy from the inside out. Damp, wavy light-brown hair clings from sweat, heavy and free, while every move kicks up a wild, untamed vibe. Droplets of sweat fly through the air, hitting you with that contagious heat.
Soft yellow lights beam from all angles onto the stage, casting scattered shadows that hide the face's details. But those clear, deep eyes? They're like a pool of blue ocean, a slight flicker pulling you in, making your heart race with the crowd's.
That's Duncan—totally lost in the performance, pouring everything into it, shedding every burden to just be in it.
His smile blooms wide and free.
"…Thanks, everyone! If we could, we'd love to stand on this stage and set a Guinness World Record for the longest continuous performance. But sadly, we couldn't get an official Guinness rep to come out to New Orleans—they're all busy in Atlanta."
The crowd bursts out laughing!
Ronan's little jab pokes fun at the "rivalry" between New Orleans and Atlanta: both Southern cities, both big but overlooked, often dismissed as backwater spots compared to New York or L.A.
Atlanta's got more resources, sure, squeezing New Orleans' economic space. But when it comes to cultural roots? New Orleans wipes the floor with Atlanta.
With that easy, offhand humor, Ronan's got the whole bar whistling!
"So, I'm guessing tonight's not our shot at that record—which means our set's over."
Ronan flashes a huge grin.
Even with the reluctance, even with the regret, thirty minutes flew by in a blink. Still, he treasures this night—his first full live gig, worth remembering. That alone fills him with contentment.
"But don't worry, there's more awesome stuff coming up next!"
"Thanks, everyone! We're King For A Day—and looks like that's today!" Another cheeky quip from Ronan, and the crowd laughs again, his eyes sparkling. "Thanks for visiting our kingdom. Have an amazing night!"
With that, he throws his right hand high, and the bar erupts—beer mugs raised, cheers and claps raining down as the best kind of praise. Even as the band steps offstage into the hallway, the heat of the crowd still rolls behind them.
"Whoa! Whoa-whoa-whoa!"
Before they even hit the hallway, Ollie's excited shouts explode from behind, slapping Ronan's shoulder like a hyped-up kid.
For the band, the feeling's even more raw, more real. Ollie can feel Ronan's command of the stage—like he's in his element, totally at ease yet fully locked in. It pulls the whole band along, and they're loving every second.
Ronan turns around, spotting Ollie's raised hand. He freezes for a sec, then instinctively slaps it back. Next thing you know, Maxim and Cliff pile in, high-fives all around. The sting in their palms unleashes that buzzing excitement!
"Epic! That was unreal!"
"Killed it!"
"Tonight was insane!"
"Full throttle, man!"
Maxim can't hold back, eyes wide as he stares at Ronan. "This has gotta be your best live gig ever—your vibe was on fire. What's the deal? You didn't chug a whole bottle of cold meds, right? Or cough syrup?"
The flood of praise from every direction throws Ronan off—he's not used to it. After losing his hearing, music and singing felt like they'd been wiped clean, gone for good. This? This is the first time in over three years he can remember. He doesn't even know how to react—humble words don't come fast enough…
Then Maxim's comment hits, and Ronan cracks up, clapping his hands. With a mock-serious nod, he says, "Yup, downed three bottles. Pretty good tonight, huh?" The grin in his eyes and on his lips bubbles over with joy.
"Wait, hold up—we gotta move the gear back. The next set's about to start!" Cliff's voice cuts in, the calm one keeping them grounded.
For gigs like this, it's all DIY—including hauling the instruments. The band's used to it, but tonight's high's got them so pumped they forgot and walked off.
So, laughing and chatting, they hustle back, rolling up their sleeves to lug the gear to the parking lot behind the bar, loading it into their van.
One minute they're shining onstage, the next they're sweaty roadies. The contrast is stark, but they're still grinning, loving every bit of it.
"Dreams make life bearable"—that's probably what it's all about, right?