Junk Shop Blues (Criminal Intentions, #2)

by Cole McCade

Malcolm, he thought, was a stone shore that waves slammed against again and again. He might seem endless and immovable, but time and time again each dash of waves against rock eroded more and more of him away.

Malcolm may not have been to temple in weeks, but places such as this bar were his houses of worship; the stillness, the quiet, was one of reverence, patrons who came more for the experience than the liquor. In places like this, other people were incidental. Their oneness came in the quiet communion of experiencing the music together, appreciating it in silence, sharing without words the bliss of a perfect performance captured in this place like a hidden pearl within an oyster, secreted away only for the eyes of a small few.

there was something pure and sweet about watching someone so absorbed in creating art and passion that lifted others on the rising tide of their emotions, giving so much to others through their creativity

“I’m too hungover to deal with traffic yet,” Malcolm said, rubbing his fingers against his temples. “And whose fault is that?” “Shove it, Seong-Jae.” “I think,” Seong-Jae said, flicking the Camaro’s alarm and rounding to the driver’s side, “you have done quite enough of that for both of us.” “Fuck off.” “You seem to have done quite a bit of that, as well.” Malcolm only gave him a surly, almost sullen look, and yanked the car door open to stuff himself into the passenger’s seat. Seong-Jae hid his smile behind his mug, and slid smoothly behind the wheel.