"Hey, guys, come on. They need us on stage."

"What are you talking about? The bar's not even open yet."

"Not to play, Rog. Use your brain. That new kid Rick's got on sound wants to– I don't know– adjust the mikes or something. Come on."

The Well Hungarians played at The Barracuda every Thursday night. They had the talent to become fairly popular, but for some reason they weren't. Some of the members felt that this was because they never learned any new songs.

The Well Hungarians had never put much time into adjusting levels on the sound equipment before, so it was not uncommon for the amps to start screeching in the middle of a song. This was also considered to be a likely reason for their lack of a large fan base.

Roger Davis, lead singer and guitarist for the Well Hungarians, didn't have a hard time picking out who the new sound guy was. He had the stereotypical nerdy tech crew look going on, small and pale with unremarkable brown hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. Roger was surprised at how young he looked. At least, he would have been surprised by this had he been more than vaguely interested.

"Um, hi guys. From what Rick told me, it sounds like you've been having some problems with feedback. I've moved some of the receptors, and that should help, but I've also had to bring down some levels, so keep all of that in mind when you set up, okay?"

The Well Hungarians stared at this boy blankly as he entered the full bloom of nerd-dome before their eyes.

"Right... well, I'd like to do a mike check. Drums and bass should be okay, I'm really more concerned with whoever's singing lead."

Roger took a step forward.

"That would be me."

"Okay, would you sing a few lines into whichever microphone you plan on using?"

"Sure thing."

Roger sang the chorus to one of their faster songs. The sound kid listened, occasionally changing some settings on the panel in front of him.

"Great job, thanks. I'm done with you guys if you want to go back now. Have a good show."

They had a good show.

Actually, they had several good shows in the next few months. The sound quality was considerably improved, random bouts of screeching from the amps were nearly eliminated, and the audiences began to stay later and even gradually grow larger. Encouraged by this rise in popularity, the band even started working on a few new songs. The general opinion of the Well Hungarians was that it was absolutely ridiculous what a difference the lack of screeching amps made.

Granted, their were occasional flaws in the sound control, and the no-longer-quite-as-new sound guy would always deal with these at the beginning of the weekly pre-show sound check with the band before proceeding to his usual ritual of checking Roger's mike.

Nothing ever varied.

For a while.

"Alright, can I hear you sing a couple of lines into the mike now?" the young man asked, as usual.

Also as usual, Roger stepped up to the microphone.

In a complete break from all that was usual, Roger did not sing, but instead spoke into the mike, "So, what's your name, kid?"

The sound guy jumped slightly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I, um, excuse me?"

"Every Thursday you ask me to sing into the mike, and every Thursday I do. And then, every Thursday, you say, 'Great job. Have a good show, guys.' But by Friday I'm still never any closer to finding out your name. And therefore I repeat: what's your name, kid?"

The younger man blushed.

"Mark. Mark Cohen."

"Glad to know you, Mark. Roger Davis."

This break from procedure had obviously caught Mark quite off guard. He smiled, in a very shy and rather embarrassed manner.

"Um, hi, Roger."

He said nothing for a moment and then suddenly announced, "Okay, have a great show, guys."

"See ya later, Mark," Roger called out with a grin, as the Well Hungarians went backstage.

A few minutes later, Rick, the owner of the bar, sauntered over to the sound booth with his characteristic smile.

"So Mark, how those mikes today?"

"What? Oh. Fine. Great, actually."