A good way to corner oneself before thousands of people is by feeding off—or living through—the good news that creeps into darker spaces. Brilliant steps from the stage, shaped by a single idea: the passage of time. And in the sharpest responses, he managed to silence the crowd before striking the rhythm of a guitar in G minor. It was the only heartbeat that mattered. The old stars of London were waiting for him—many of them already grandfathers, others not far behind—and for reasons that hardly needed explanation, it was Billy who stood there, expecting everything to go not just well, but better than well.
--Alright, old men. Let's begin with what we came here for. - His voice carried with force; there wasn't a single corner that didn't hear him. His eyes sparkled, each person holding their own idea of the moment, yet no one dared override what time itself meant—a good story.
Billy thought of the moments when, even when he wanted to speak, he remained devoted to silence, because no one truly had the time in their lives to care about trivialities. And that lent a certain restraint to everything—nothing stood against the fact that Billy's words ultimately bent to his own will.
The sky glowed, and everything aligned as the crowd leaned into the flow of time. His eyes scanned the audience, drawn into a shared circle of anticipation.
—The woman of Los Angeles —Billy growled, growing more intense. Even without moving, even without grand theatrics, he shaped everything effortlessly. That intensity came in two ways: first, through a force that was natural to this kind of performance; second, through the clearing of his heart, which now burned with the fervor of song. And that song stirred the waiting crowd. L.A. Woman. A track woven tightly into the very essence of the performance.
When he sang L.A. Woman, it felt like stepping into another era—traveling back to a time when women moved, danced, and carried a presence that defined those moments so completely. What a powerful song.
🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶
Well, I just got into town about an hour ago
Took a look around, see which way the wind blow
Where the little girls in their Hollywood bungalows
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light?
Or just another lost angel?
City of Night, City of Night
City of Night, City of Night
LA woman, LA woman
LA woman, Sunday afternoon
LA woman, Sunday afternoon
LA woman, Sunday afternoon
Drive through your suburbs
Into your blues, into your blues, yeah
Into your blues, into your blues!
🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶
Billy watched as thousands of people repeated a movement that had perhaps faded long ago, preserved only in old recordings—special events, MTV broadcasts. And there was something he understood clearly: fame wasn't about resisting the model. Chasing money, women, and a good life—that was what every star was expected to embody. His image thrived on that: his cars, his lavish parties, his outings to restaurants and museums. It was a life that inspired envy, and the great photographers knew exactly how to frame it—how to present someone who seemed above everything else.
That was what it meant to sing The Doors. A journey across the world.
🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶
I see your hair is burning
Hills are filled with fire
If they say I never loved you
You know they are a liar
Driving down your freeways
Midnight alleys roam
Cops in cars, the topless bars
Never saw a woman so alone
So alone, so alone, so alone
Motel money murder-madness
Let's change the mood from glad to sadness
Mr. Mojo Risin', Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin', Mr. Mojo Risin'
Got to keep on risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin', Mr. Mojo Risin'
Mojo Risin', gotta Mojo Risin'
Mr. Mojo Risin', gotta keep on risin'
Risin', risin'
Gone risin', risin'
I'm gone risin', risin'
I gotta risin', risin'
Well, risin', risin'
I gotta, wooo, yeah, risin'
Whoa, oh, yeah
🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶
The image that came to mind—one that always returned in fragments—was a car flying down Route 66, with hitchhikers scattered along the roadside. It was almost euphoric, the way Billy embraced that sense of adventure, capturing fleeting images, each one beautifully alive.
The force of the moment, the blurred intensity that created the perfect image—he didn't let opportunities slip away. He seized adventure head-on, every sensation feeding into memories of time itself: childhood, adolescence, those reckless years when responsibility was postponed, left behind for some distant future.
🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶
Well, I just got into town about an hour ago
Took a look around, see which way the wind blow
Where the little girls in their Hollywood bungalows
Are you a lucky little lady in The City of Lights?
Or just another lost angel?
City of Night, City of Night
City of Night, City of Night, whoa, c'mon
LA Woman, LA Woman
LA Woman, you're my woman
Little LA Woman, Little LA Woman
LA LA Woman Woman
LA Woman, c'mon
🎶🎶🎵🎵🎵🎶
...
The party in Liverpool was wildly—ten times—better than anything they had experienced in Cambridge. This was a real party, one where everyone pushed the energy higher, louder, stronger.
--Opposing desires, opposing rhythms in every chant. —Billy said, kissing Lidia's lips as dawn began to creep in. Her lips were provocative, yet tender in their own way. It wasn't like Gwen, nor did it resemble the kind of moments he shared with Avril—who, despite her image as the princess of punk, carried a softer, more vulnerable core, almost childlike in the way she loved.
Her kisses were burning. They felt like chains pulling tighter, and Lidia seemed caught in the realization that what lay ahead was time—time she would inevitably invest too deeply in. That innocence was the beginning of something explosive, because it was clear to anyone that she would fall for him, even if she claimed otherwise. It was a decision already leaning toward inevitable mistakes.
He didn't let himself get trapped. He moved on to Rosie, even if it stung. Rosie was the most pragmatic of them all—her beauty carried a sharp clarity. She wasn't naive like Lidia, and perhaps that came from privilege, from success, from a different kind of understanding. With her, there were no illusions. She was more decisive, more rebellious—one of those women who turned time itself into an expression of passion.
--Your tongue is bold. —Billy whispered, his hands tracing her slender abdomen.
--Lidia is a little... --
--Lidia already had her moment. —Billy replied, brushing aside time itself, ignoring the subtle complexities weaving through everything.