"You’re not a singer. You’re not a song-writer. You’re not some tortured genius like Kurt Cobain. You’re just an idol and idols burn out and get replaced like that," Tim said matter-of-factly, snapping his fingers. "You’re nothing new and I can find a million chicks just like you who wanna be stars, who are prettier and have brighter smiles, better hooks and bigger tits."

Snarling, Shane threw the tumbler of whiskey at the vanity, glass exploding from the mirror and shattering into a thousand glittering daggers that scattered themselves all over the vanity, the floor, and some of the dressing room, besides. "Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my sight."

"I’m doin’ this for your own good, you dense cunt," Tim growled, hands curled tightly around a rolled-up concert program, bunching and bunching the paper until it wrinkled and tore and gave. Like he was hoping she would do. "Look at you. You’re a fuckin’ mess. You think any club anywhere wants to pay you to come into their place and sing? The fucking state you’re in? Y’know, I was starting to wonder, but you really must be out of your fuckin’ mind, honey, if you think that."

"Is this what I pay you for?" She muttered as she crunched through broken mirror, boots clomping heavily on the floor, leaving little more than glitter behind where she stepped.

"Yes," Tim replied simply, hissing that last ‘s’ for all it was worth, leaning on it like he was leaning on her. "How long have you been touring with this last album, huh? Six months? A year? Two years?"

"Eighteen months, but who’s counting?" She replied, fetching another tumbler from the nearby bar and filling it with three or four fingers, lips thinning as she took a sip. "The label won’t give me any money to go back in the studio. You fucking know that, Tim."

"Why do you think that is, Shane? Huh? It’s because of the drugs, baby, not to mention the drinking and all the fucking girls you have hanging around backstage, eating up all the food that craft services puts out. It’s like we’ve got fucking rats in the building in practically every fucking town you play, Shane! Come on! You know what it’s about!" Tim yelled, swatting at the painted breeze-block wall with his program.