Three years had passed since the hotel room.
Carlos had built a name in Los Angeles. His face graced billboards on Sunset, his voice echoed in theaters. He smiled in interviews, wore tuxedos on red carpets, and walked past flashing cameras as if he were born to do it.
But at night, when the applause faded and the city went quiet, he would find himself staring at the ceiling, remembering a crooked smile in a dimly lit bar, the sound of piano keys, the roar of engines that used to lull him to sleep.

Write a comment ...