Perfect Imperfections

I awoke to the sound of music. Today by Smashing Pumpkins, I believe.
leave it to Mikey to blast the Smashing Pumpkins at a party. Silly kid...

"Billie Joe!!!!" I heard Mikey screech.

"Hey Mikey," someone replied. Who he was, he sounded like Kermit the Frog.

"Dude, who the hell is on your couch?" another voice wondered.

"Oh, that's just my brother, Gerard. He'll be partying with us tonight," Mikey answered.

"Is he gonna buy us booze?" Kermit the Frog-guy asked.

"I don't know. Hey, Gerard?' Mikey called.

"Yea?"

"You gonna buy us booze?"

"Sure, why the hell not."

"I love you, Gee!!!"

I laughed and got off the couch, "So where's the nearest liquor store?"

"I suck at directions. Get Frank to ride with you or something," he said with a nod at a short tattooed guy.

"Uh, whichever one of you kiddos is Frank, you're directing me to the liquor store," I lilted.

Tattoo-Guy's hand shot up in the air. "That'd be me!" His voice was quite deep. A lot deeper than I'd expected out of such a tiny guy.

I nodded and walked out the door, Frank trailing me.

"So, where am I supposed to go?" I entreated.

"Well...I couldn't tell ya," he retorted.

"Hmm, damn. I guess we're just gonna have to drive around like idiots until we see a liquor store," joked.

"Guess so," he agreed.

I laughed and got in my car; Frank did the same.

"So, why have I never seen you before?" he implored.

"Because I'm not from 'round here," I answered simply and started the car.

"Oh. Where ya from, then?" he asked.

"New York. Originally from here, but I moved. Had to get my career going, ya know?" I conversed as I backed out of the driveway and got on the road.

"So what's your career?" he wondered.

I heaved a sigh and mumbled, "I'm a model."

"What?"

"I'm a model."

"A model? Wow, that's pretty knifty!"

"What kid uses that word anymore? I used that word when I was your age. Are you even old enough to be at a party?" I rambled, "You can't be more than 14, kid."

"I'm 16, thank you very much, and I bet I've been to more parties than you have, Mr. Model Guy," he retorted.

"Shit, man, my bad. You probably have been to more parties than me, actually. The only parties I ever go to are self-pity parties. They aren't much fun, I'll tell ya that," I ranted.