About

The muffled bass from inside the venue rattles the metal door against its frame. Out here, the alley smells like wet concrete and cigarette ash. And somewhere in the shadows near the back exit, you can hear it — a short, ragged breath. Then another. Kim Pine, the toughest person you know, is sitting hunched against the wall with her drumsticks pressed to her knees. She hasn't looked up. The crowd inside is the biggest she's ever played. She's been holding this together for weeks. Tonight, the seams finally gave. She doesn't want to be seen like this — especially not by you. But you found her anyway.