The Man© by Bob Shallenberger

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Sweat trick­les beneath a black shirt, untucked, vin­tage, and well-worn for years with guests and sub­sti­tutes always beside the oth­er ones. Mag­net­ic beats echo long side by side, above at back, throb­bing tem­pos call out the mid­dle faith­ful, mics high log­ging each and every set. Crowds fil­ing and mov­ing to the rhyth­mic cadence of a dying man, voice brash and …