My Drug, Intoxicated

A young man walked along the street, kicking trash out of his way as he sipped out of a bottle. A guitar was strapped to his back and a tune was in his head. The wind started to pick up and he lifted his hand up, brushing his light blond hair out of his face. His odd, golden-colored eyes looked around him, taking in where he was. He swore to himself.

"Damnit, i'm lost." He whipped a cell phone out of his pocket, punching in some numbers. "Jerry can you come pick me up? Yes. Yes, I know we have a gig. That's the whole problem. I'm kind of lost. Yeah. Er, i'm near some place called The Blue Rabbit? Oh. I'm a block away? I'll be right there. No. I'm not drinking. Don't worry. Bye" He shut his phone off and took another swig.

Reaching the end of the street, he made a left and headed toward an ugly, dirty side-door. He tossed his empty bottle away and opened the door, entering the smoky club backroom, where his bandmates Jerry and Fuzz resided, as well as a few assorted others.

"Yo, Blake, you slow bitch, we're on in five." The blonde laughed out loud.

"I'm here aren't I? You got my amp?" The curly, red-head known as Fizz nodded. "Kay, then we're good. You remembered your good drumsticks right, not the ones held together with duck tape?" He nodded again. "Wow. Good job." He turned to the black haired bassist, Jerry. "You remembered your lucky bandana right? I can't handle another one of your freak-outs." Jerry nodded and tied it around his head, laughing. "Perfect."

A man entered the room, calling out to the boys. "You guys are the band Yield To The Blind, right? You're on." The three men all high-fived each other, getting pumped for their biggest show yet. Jerry and Blake ran out, carrying their guitars. Fizz's drums were already set up. Blake plugged in his guitar as Jerry held his bass.

"Hey everyone. We're Yield To The Blind and we're glad to be at this Battle of the Bands. This song is called The World Ends With You." Fizz counted down from four.

Across the country, as these opening notes played, another boy sat at his desk, staring intently at a computer. As he typed, he furiously erased what he had written and started again, trying to get everything exactly as he imagined it. Right as he was starting to catch a flow, someone knocked on his door, breaking his concentration. He stood up with a scowl, he was never going to get anything done now.

He opened his front door, and was met with a squealing, perky brunette. She flung herself into his arms, and he had to steady himself as to not fall.

"Danny! You did it! Your book just hit the top of the New York Times Bestsellers and Oprahs Favorites. We should push up your book tour for the end of this week!" He scowled again, thinking on the memoir he had written to just let his thoughts and feelings out, that now millions of people were probably reading and trying to empathize with him about. He never wanted to be famous. The newspapers had taken to calling him the next Dave Pelzer. Hah.

"Great." He walked away from her, back to his desk. "I'm working on a new story. Fiction this time. And you really just killed the flow." She frowned down at him now.

"I'm sorry Danny. But as your publicist, I had to be the one to tell you first. I mean, you're famous now! Anyway, back to business. I think we should add more dates in this week. It's not like it'll be hard finding places. There's this great convention in L.A. we could start with and we can add extra Houston and New York dates like you wanted to earlier, pushing up the Phoenix dates to the end of the week. How's that sound?" Danny shrugged, sitting back down on his computer.

"I don't care Jean. Do it however you want." Jean chattered on behind him, talking about all the different things she would now need to plan, what hotel's to book, who she needed to call about the new arrangements. Danny just sat there, staring at the copy of his memoir he had just recieved a few days ago.

It's shiny cover seemed to mock his existance.