My Drug, Intoxicated

Blake's P.O.V.

"Congratulations boys." I clinked my glass against my bandmates. "We are officially fifteen hundred dollars richer." After winning the Battle of the Bands, Jerry went out and bought a congratulatory bottle of champagne for all of us to share.

"So," Jerry started. Fizz and I both turned to look at him. "I think that each of us should get two hundred dollars each, just for shits and giggles, and the rest can go toward band-related things." I looked at him questionably.

"What band related things?" Ha gave me a pointed look.

"For one, we both need new strings, the amps are about to implode, Fizz needs a new drum head or two, the van has a leaky carburetor--" I held my hand up to stop him.

"Okay, I get it, sounds good. Two hundred to each of us and that leaves," I did the quick math in my head. "Nine hundred for band stuff."

"Yeah. And," Jerry paused for effect. "I was thinking we could do a mini-tour kind of thing. You know, small clubs and shows and stuff. Just here on the east coast probably, maybe a little into the mid-west. If we can afford the gas and stuff." I looked at Fizz and he looked at me. We both grinned.

"Hell yes!" We yelled simultaneously.

"Did you even have to ask Jer?" I smirked at him. "We should start setting up some club dates and stuff, see what we can get." We sat in a circle and drank our champagne, relaxed.

"Hey guys?" We all looked at Jerry. "Can we stop by the bookstore on the way home, I wanna grab a new book." Fizz and I both groaned.

"Are you serious?" I asked him. Jerry was like the biggest nerd ever. He has this huge book collection at the apartment we all shared. I really don't understand half of the things he gets. I tried reading one of his books once and, I don't even know. I think I passed out.

"Yeah. I'll be really fast. It's this brand new book that just came out so there should be a stand right near the front. I'll be quick, I promise." He gave us both puppy dog eyes. Damn those eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Let's get out of here anyway." We grathered our stuff up, carrying it out to the van. It was an old VW that we affectionately named Dusty Vee Dub.

"Get your asses in, i'm driving." I took the keys from Fizz as they both clamored for the front seat. Jerry won. He's got a mean headlock.

I found the bookstore after a good ten minutes. Luckily, there was a parking spot right out front. I pulled up and Jerry jumped out, running into the store mouthing 'thank you'. I don't know why, but Jerry always needs a book with him. It's like if he doesn't have something to do, he'll go crazy. But hey, he's a kick-ass bassist so I deal with his shit. I mean, they deal with my shit. And i've got a lot.

It took about ten minutes but Jerry was right back out, hopping in the front seat, bag in hand. He looked really excited.

"Guess what!" Neither Fizz nor I cared. But we said what anyway. "The author of this book is going to be here, in this building, in a month to do a signing! How cool is that?!" Fizz looked at me and I looked at him.

"Er, cool?" Fizz asked.

"Yes it's cool! He's like this awesome new writer from L.A. He's our age too. This book is his memoir." I stared at him skeptically.

"He's our age, and he already has a memoir? That sounds a little pretentious. Probably some rich, hollywood bitch." Jerry looked at me as if I had spoken blasphemy.

"No no! It's not like that at all. He was raised in the slums of L.A. or something. It's a really good book, it's gotten rave reviews." I looked at Fizz in the rearview mirror.

"Listen to me Jerry. I doubt that kid knows anything about the slums of L.A. He's just looking to make a quick buck. I doubt he understands real pain, or real hunger, or real care. I bet that book is a load of shit okay." I clenched my hands tightly around the steering wheel. Jerry just looked at me sideways.

"Blake, i'm sorry, I know you grew up in--" I cut him off.

"You don't know anything okay. Just drop it." He meekly nodded, pulling his book out and burying his head in it. I glanced over, checking out the title of the book, slightly curious.

HelL.A.