It was August 17, 2002. Billy's USA tour, and, one of his last few. Billy had just finished his gig in Chicago, and was exiting the brightly lit and vibrant stage, arms raised in the air, as he walked off stage. Once he had disappeared behind the purple curtain, and was no longer visible, Billy sighed, and slumped on the wall. It had been a great show, and he had preformed well. Not a single hitch. But, he was exhausted, and his fingers hurt, and ached. Billy wiped his brow, and straightened his tie, going further on to greet the large group of fans who had paid for VIP passes, and probably wanted his autograph. He was right. It only took a few steps to see and hear them, mostly girls, but also a few men, jumbled into a heap of adoring fans. They practically scream,Ed for him, their excitement boiling over like a pot of water. Billy put on his cool face, and went out to greet them.

"Hey, my Cobra-Heads!" He said enthusiastically, giving one a high-five, and bro-fisting another. The fans grew more excited. Billy pulled out a black Sharpie and began to sign pictures of himself that the fans produced. After all, that's what he was supposed to do. He then took a photo with one or two of them, causing even more ruckus among the rabid fans. It was people like the, that made this rock-star life so rewarding. Mostly, he just cared about the money, and the girls, and the sweet guitars he could buy, but deep down, he really cared about all his fans. They were his inspiration. It was their adoration that prompted some of his best songs. He literally wrote about how much people loved him. Some might have called it self-centered, but to Billy, it was his way of thanking them. Soon the crowd of fans was pushed away by security, some more reluctant than others, and Billy was left alone. He was just about to head into his dressing room, when he heard a strange sound. One all too familiar; the sounds of sobbing and crying. Billy, now curious as to the source of the noise, followed the sound until he found someone sitting by the wall, dressed in a white hoodie, which covered up their face. It might have been a girl, it might have been a boy. Either way, Billy didn't care. He knelt down next to the stranger, and tapped them on the shoulder.

"Erm, excuse me? Are you okay?" He asked, sounding a tad concerned. The person looked up, not much more visible, and nodded their head. Billy frowned, and sat next to them.

"Dude, I know you're lying. What's wrong?" This time, he asked in a more heartfelt tone. He couldn't see much of the strangers face, but he did see tears. He then noticed that the stranger was wearing a VIP pass. This was strange, as he hadn't seen them when he was signing autographs.

"I...I came to see Billy Joe Cobra but...I'm afraid I'll look bad and then..." That was all the stranger said. Billy was confused, as he was right there, but he figured that they just couldn't see him clearly.

"Look bad? Why are you afraid of that?" He asked. The stranger moved around, hugging their chin to their knees.

"Well, all his fans look so cool, and have his shirts and stuff...He'd probably just look at me, and think I'm a creepy nerd..." Muttered the stranger. Billy smiled softly, wrapping his arms around the distraught fan. He understood what it felt like, not to feel very good looking. He himself had once been quite plain. Sure, he had matured, but not everyone did so like him.

"He would never! I know for a fact Billy loves his fans, no matter what they look like!" He reassured them. The stranger stopped crying, and looked up a little. They let out a small gasp, and backed away a little. Billy grinned and patted them on the back.

"I don't really care what you look like. You could be fifteen pounds, or fifteen hundred! You could have zits, acne, and I still wouldn't care. I mean, I started this whole gig with you all in mind!" He said in a happy tone. The stranger was silent for a moment, before curling back up again.

"Well, that's easy for you to say. You look great, and you have all the money, and sponsors-"

"When I first started out, you wanna know the first thing I thought about? All the fans I was gonna have. And I told myself that no matter what, I would love them all. Even if they didn't look like models. Because in reality, none of us are born models, or even sorta hot. It's what we think about ourselves that makes us really amazing." Billy said, looking upwards to the ceiling. The stranger looked at him again, and when Billy -turned his head, he swore, that thought not a pair of eyes, or a nose was in sight, he could see a smile peeping out from under the hood. Billy's heart filled with a warm sort of adrenaline, as he reflected on the words he had just said. That smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Now, I believe I have a fan to take care of-" He stated, taking out his Sharpie.

"May I ask your name?"

"My...name is -"

"Great!" Billy said. "-, it would be an honor for me if you'd take a picture with me." And with that, he pulled put a camera, and raised it in the air, snapping a photo.

Later, that night, Billy hung something on the inside of his limousine. It was a picture of him, and some fan in a white hoodie. Billy smiled softly to himself, feeling that wariness expand in his heart again. He reclined back, sighing. His fingers no longer ached, and he was no longer tired. In fact, his talk had even inspired him a little. He hated to see his fans in such manners, and that night, he had made one, a single fan, feel alright. And if he could do that, he knew that he could help the rest. Because to him, he loved all the people who were connected to him through his music. Even if they thought they were ugly, or pathetic, he saw something in them. He saw that if they liked his music, maybe they were more alike on the inside, than outside. And what's on the inside was all that mattered to him. From that day, till the day he died, he never forgot the fan in the white hoodie. Maybe, because he always kept the picture, so he could see their amazing smile wherever he went.