Just thirty minutes—that was all. The performance wasn't long.
What's more, moments of happiness always seem fleeting. Before there's time to savor them, to truly immerse oneself, they've already passed in the blink of an eye.
"…Thank you. That concludes today's performance."
No lengthy speeches. Anson wrapped up the show cleanly and decisively.
In the cozy tavern, two audience members approached, holding their glasses, enthusiastically praising Anson's performance and asking if he had any records available—
This scene didn't surprise Anson.
During his street performances across Europe, it was often the same. People would stop to enjoy the music, and if they liked it, they'd buy a record as a keepsake.
It was something fascinating.
At the turn of the millennium, even as digital music began to emerge, people still passionately bought physical albums.
It wasn't just about listening habits; it was also a form of collection, a lifestyle, a cultural identity. Vinyl records, portable cassette players, radios—they all offered a way to let music flow slowly, even if one couldn't choose individual songs on demand. Instead, there was the joy of listening to an entire album in sequence, from start to finish, letting it unfold like a story.
Because of this, when musicians made albums, they had to consider their coherence and completeness. Even the order of the tracks was crucial.
An album wasn't just a collection of songs; it was a whole—a concept, a narrative.
Twenty years later, such habits would gradually change, be disrupted, and eventually overturned.
The convenience of digital music led to a lack of patience for listening to entire albums. People would pick and choose their favorite tracks instead. Naturally, more and more artists focused solely on their singles, and the overall quality of albums declined. As a result, fewer and fewer people bought physical albums.
In the end, a vicious cycle formed.
The evolution of any culture is never simple; it often bears the imprint of its times.
When Anson returned to the early 2000s, he thought he would struggle to adapt. There were no smartphones, no digital music, no streaming platforms, and even transportation was less convenient. Life seemed full of inconveniences.
Reality, however, proved otherwise.
Not only did Anson adapt seamlessly, but truth be told, he found himself liking this life more.
Everything felt more genuine.
The most obvious and direct difference was the connections between people.
As the internet became more convenient, people often hid behind screens, using nicknames and avatars to communicate in the virtual world. Over time, real-world interactions with actual people became uncomfortable, even awkward, leading to a growing social distance in physical life.
Now, things were different.
Looking at the two faces before him, beaming with enthusiasm, so real and so close, Anson could clearly feel their emotions through their eyes and smiles.
It was evident—they genuinely loved tonight's performance.
Anson smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I haven't released any works yet."
"You should," said the young man with long hair.
Next to him, the man with a goatee nodded earnestly. "Indeed. Music this great deserves to be heard by more people."
The young man with long hair nodded repeatedly. "Like the band August 31st. Gold will always shine. Talented people like you deserve more attention. More importantly, we deserve better music."
Sincere, passionate, pure.
Anson felt his heart relax and unwind. "Thank you. I hope that day will come. And when it does, I hope we meet again."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Anson hesitated for a moment before finally making his way toward Annie and Jack's table.
Even before he got close, Anson could see the bright spark in Annie's eyes, making the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.
"Hey, good evening."
Annie shot up from her seat so quickly she nearly toppled the entire table—
Flustered, she grabbed the table, and Anson hurriedly did the same. The three people at the table stared, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, at the chaotic scene.
The air froze for a second.
Anson let out a long breath. Disaster averted. "So, how's the evening going? Smoothly?"
Annie took a deep breath instead. "You mean, the part where I almost flipped the table? I guess we should ask the ones directly affected."
A small self-deprecating joke successfully eased the awkwardness.
Anson turned to look at the three others at the table. Beer had spilled, and they were frantically mopping it up with napkins. He offered a smile. "If anyone needs to use the restroom, now's the best time to claim a spot."
Jack, who had been quietly observing Anson under the dim tavern lights, finally seemed certain.
He stepped forward, arms wide, and threw himself at Anson with such exuberance that it felt like a sloth clinging to a tree. Wrapping himself around Anson's neck, he was overjoyed.
"Hey, buddy! I knew it was you."
He shouted as he turned to Claire and Ryan.
"I told you! It's Anson."
"Oh no, wait—he's James Bond now, on a secret mission. Sorry, 007. I guess we should shut up and not blow your cover."
Lively, playful, warm, mischievous.
Jack was always like this—his emotions high and unrestrained, like fireworks bursting in all directions. It wasn't easy for others to keep up with him.
But tonight, he was a bit over the top.
Even Anson was caught off guard, left momentarily stunned. Jack swept through like a tornado, leaving Anson wondering—
Had he missed something?
This was their first meeting in nearly six months. No calls, no messages—not even a postcard.
More precisely, it was the first time Anson had seen Jack since his injury on the set of Spider-Man 2.
A lot had happened during that time. Jack hadn't visited Anson, and there had been rumors of Jack plotting to steal Anson's role.
And now, this.
Everything felt disconnected, as if key moments were missing, yet here they were, skipping ahead as though nothing had ever happened—
Jack was practically hanging off Anson.
So, this was Jack's response? Acting like nothing had happened? As if his fallout with Kristen hadn't happened? As if the heated recasting drama over the summer wasn't related to him? As if they were still the closest of friends?
Something felt off.
But looking at Jack now, so effortlessly genuine, so warmly familiar, Anson couldn't decide whether to admire Jack's remarkable acting or chide himself for being overly suspicious.
Anson chuckled, shaking his head. He patted Jack's back. "Careful now. I haven't trained in ballet. We might both end up on the floor."
A lighthearted quip instantly lifted the mood.
(Chapter End)