Drop the Sign

My right fingers were locked in a peace sign. Dead still against the mountain breeze. Then, a slight shift in my wrist. I willed the tension to break, and my hand dropped. Total control. I looked down at the tiny electric guitar resting beside my left sneaker, leaned slightly forward, and gave its neck a firm tap with my toe. It slid an inch across the cardboard. I am moving. The show starts now.