I Know.

I bite into a sandwich, before pulling it away and chewing. I taste the bread, lettuce, and tomatoes. It's enough to send my taste buds into such ecstasy. Tomato sandwiches are my weakness. I don't know why. I used to hate tomatoes. It's just something that my aunt introduced me to a month or two back, when I stayed with her for a few nights to recover before going on tour.

Yesterday's show was amazing. The crowd was brilliant. They knew the lyrics, and they eagerly sang along with me. The pit wasn't as bad as it could have been. I don't think I saw any injuries, but some moshing did break out a few times. I like watching the crowd, looking at the faces of my fans as they're listening, watching my band perform live.

Of course, Georgie and Kelly had to be the first ones to our van after the show. They needed to shower, and being in a relationship, they would shower together. Pat and I wouldn't be around. I refuse to over-hear anything I don't want to hear, since it would probably end up happening, and that's why I'm here, at this cute, little café.

The walls are an off-white color. They sort of have a yellow feel to them, but they are far from yellow. The tables are tall, much like each stool that surrounded them. There are booths in the back. One of which, Pat and I occupy.

"I forgot," Pat sighs, "I was asked about an interview at last night's show."

I sip at my drink. "Did you agree to it?"

"Yeah. He said he'd call Jonah and give us a time."

Jonah is our band manager. She schedules everything for us. All we have to do is show up, and she'll tell us what is going on. She's so great.

"Do you think it is safe to head back to the van?" I ask, my mouth full from finishing the last bit of my sandwich.

Pat laughs, "Should be, but we should shield our eyes just in case."

We get up, throw our trash away and leave.

As we find our way, Pat has to bring up what I almost forgot. "Who was that boy you were flirting with last night?"

"Luke, I think his name is. He's a photographer."

"I would have never guessed. He had a camera around his neck." Pat laughed.

I roll my eyes. "I mean professionally."

"He is cute."

"I gave him my number, but I don't think he's as interested as I thought he was."

Pat gave me an odd look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He hasn't sent me a text or called yet."

"He's probably just busy." Pat sighs, "Or maybe he thinks it's a fake number? How many band members give their real numbers out, any way?"

I groan, "You're probably right."

"Don't be sad," He coos at me, "You never know. He might call you sometime."

"When his job permits."

Pat jumps in front of me. "Now, now, what's that about? You're William-fucking-Abbot! He'll call you."

"It's just something he said. It's fine, Pat, really."