BEHIND THE CURTAIN: LIVING THE DREAM?

By George Pirounakis

This one goes out to every keyboard warrior, every old classmate, every random DM saying, “Damn, you’re living the dream” or “I’m so jealous of your life on the road.” Let me give you a reality check from the inside of a mini nightliner. And yes, that photo? That’s the hallway. That’s the bedroom. That’s almost the entire space.

Welcome to our five-star suite: nine bunks, no privacy, red curtains as your only door, and about 30 seconds of daily sunlight if you’re lucky enough to wake up before load-in. You crawl in like a bat into a padded coffin, clutching your phone and praying your bunk neighbour doesn’t snore like a freight train. Spoiler: they do!

The floor? It’s not made of lava—it’s made of Crocs, boots and shoes soaked from last night’s rain. If you have to pee at 4am, it’s a mini parkour course. One wrong step and you’re face-planting into someone’s Doc Martens.

There’s no shower. Want to take a dump? Better time it right and find a venue bathroom before the fans flood in. Miss that window? You’re holding it until the next gas station, six hours down a pothole-infested highway. Feel glamorous yet?

The smell? Let’s talk about that. Nine grown-ass humans sweating through shows, barely sleeping, sometimes not even changing clothes because hey—it’s merch, tech, driver life, or frontman grind, not a spa weekend.

And still… we do it.

We do it because we believe in it. Because the roar of the crowd, the sweat dripping off the ceiling, the nights that blur into mornings in some unknown city—those moments are real. But don’t mistake passion for luxury. Don’t confuse dedication with comfort.

This is not the dream. It’s the grind.

So next time you feel a pang of jealousy when you see a tour pic, remember this image. Remember the red curtains, the foot funk, the sleepless nights, and the endless miles. We love what we do—but it’s not for everyone.

And if you still want in after all that?

Cool. Grab a bunk. Just don’t touch my pillow.