No Hot Water Harley Dean [updated] -

He stands there, shivering, letting the ice wash over his head, down his back, over the scar on his ribs from a stage dive gone wrong in ’97. The cold doesn’t kill him. It just wakes him up.

He steps into the shower.

No hot water means his blood runs cold now. The fire he used to sing about—that reckless, beautiful fire—has been replaced by a low-grade chill that lives in his bones. He can’t write a song anymore. He can’t hold a note. He can’t hold a relationship. no hot water harley dean

The last time he had hot water—truly hot, scalding, life-affirming water—was the morning of his daughter’s high school graduation. He showed up drunk. She didn’t speak to him after. That was seven years ago. He stands there, shivering, letting the ice wash