Chapter One

"Yeah my girlfriend takes me home when I'm too drunk to drive!"

Nathan Starkey stood in a sort of dried up punk club that reeked of marijuana and the oh so lovely smell of alcohol and body odor. Mad edgy teenagers screamed the lyrics of a song he once thought was good. No sadly he wasn't at an actual Blink-182 concert. Instead he was at some sort of shitty club in some shitty city in shitty Canada. He did not like his current situation. Looking down at the brown muck that Canada called beer, he groaned.

"And she doesn't get all jealous when I hang out with the guys! She laughs at my dumb jokes when no one does!"

Nathan Starkey wanted no more to leave. Through a door. In a body bag. He really didn't give two shits. As long as he got out of the country. But yet he stood in a trashed club contemplating getting drunk or not as he stared at his drink. His life, not seeming to sound like too much of a MCR fan, sucked. Stunk. Was horrible. Was a fucking mess. Destroyed beyond repair. He thought back to the last five years of his life. His unusually good high school years. Would his next years of life suck to pay for those strangely good years of playing music, recording an album, drinking, smoking, staying with one girl THE girl, going to gigs in basements and clubs? Was this just fate catching up to him? Fate stretching it's fucking big jaws ready for the kill?

"Don't wanna be an American idiot!"

The band changed songs.

He didn't care enough to wonder. Now fighting back tears he thought. Thought about Negative 10. About his parents. About his burnt bass and microphone. His lead guitarist. His record label. His idiotic political views. His songs. His friends. His drummer, his girl, his everything, his motivation, his whatever you wanted to call her. And then, like he always did he started to hate his thoughts. The thoughts of begging, like a love sick puppy. Fucking graveling at her feet, looking up to see her proud smirk, and he of course would be sadly turned on. But the future results of that option weren't as obvious. Would she take him back? Would Negative 10 get back together? Would he escape fate's jaws? He put the plastic rim of his cup to his lips. He tilted it slightly to let the brown drink slide down his throat.

"Who the hell makes peanut butter flavored beer", Nathan whispered to himself.

"I know the shit's disgusting", Nathan looked around and saw a boy, somewhere in his early twenties looking at him, and his heart sunk as he realized the boy was talking to him. The boy's hair was greasy and his eyes covered with glasses. His smile revealed unusually straight teeth.

"What's your name?"

"Nathan…. What is this the third grade?"

"Pushy…. You like punk music? I mean that's why you're here?" the boy asked. It really was starting to feel like grade school.

"When it's good..."

"You don't like Crash and Boys. Eh, you'll find a local band you like, we have a network of them."

"Yeah, I'm sure I will..."

"Oh you will. Hell, we even have one called Sex-bob-bomb or something like that..."

"What from Mario?"

"Wait you got that reference!" the boy chuckled.

"Well uh yeah or I wouldn't have asked…" Nathan answered annoyed.

"Well I guess your right… Where you from… If you don't mind me asking?" the boy asked sounding legitimately curious.

"What you have the need to know everything or something?"

"Something along the lines of that…"

"Well then I'll tell you everything you need to know. I'm from a small city in Indiana, I'm really pissed because I and my band were supposed to go on tour with Sum 41, but then my girlfriend dumped me and formed her own band, some kind of indie techno shit…." Nathan started. "And then I wanted to start over, and nothing ever fucking happens in Canada, so I moved here…"

"Oh… well maybe you can start a new band here…"

"Dude we were making a fucking record..."

"Well hey you can make a record here. Start over man." the boy shrugged.

"Yeah, something tells me good ol' Canada won't work so well" Nathan sighed.

"How long have you been here?"

"Since last night…"

"Oh give it some time…" the boy laughed.

"Yeah well do you know any bands in need for a bass…? If I need to try to make this work?"

"Nah, but I'll keep a look out. Name's Michael Comeau, sorry for not saying that sooner… Nathan. Surprised you're not singing right now…" Michael laughed eying Nathan's Green Day shirt.

"Never liked that album…"

"Well bye man. Here's my number stay in touch?" Michael said handing Nathan a slip of paper, walking away.

"Will do. Thanks…"

Rather Nathan wanted to admit or not Michael had given him a sense of hope for his situation. A face he now knew. As a friend. Made him kind of sorry for coming on so harsh. But Nathan still had doubts. Qualms about his new arrangement. He had a job, an apartment, but would his new life work? He truly wanted to play bass. He wanted to have Negative 10 back. But he planned to work. Work to make his new life work. He went out of that club hopeful. Drunk, but hopeful. Ready to start work off at No Account the next day.