“Five minutes”
Greg pulled the brush through the back of her hair one more time, backed up, surveyed his work, looked at her reflected eyes and nodded. She turned to one side and then the other. “Yeah.”
“They’re gonna love you.”
By this point there was usually cheering, chanting, a rolling boil of crowd noise. Outside, in the oddly-shaped venue, the audience of Shchinwhee sat in near-silence in seats recently designed and installed. “Sure.”
“Just like a normal show.”
She locked eyes with her own reflection. Ten years since that mall food court. Poughkeepsie? Maybe Albany? “Like a normal show.”
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