"Roger?" Mark said, from the driver's seat.

"Yep?" I grunted, from the backseat. April and I hadn't had much debate over who'd sit up front with Mark- I'd wanted to stretch out in the back and sleep. Fortunately, Mark had littered the entire backseat with old soda cans, disposable camera wrappers, and old paperback books. Unconsciously, I plucked a random book from the floor of the car, and when I saw it was titled 'Catcher in the Rye,' I threw it back down and groaned.

"When the hell are you going to clean all this shit up?" I demanded.

"Christ, someone's cranky," Mark observed.

"Well someone is trying to take a nap in the backseat but can't, because the owner of the car has littered the entire back of the car with junk."

"Sorry. It's usually just me in here, and my maid's on vacation, anyway.

I grunted in response.

"So where are you two going to go once we get back in New York?" Mark asked April and I.

I frowned. "I don't know. If I try to go back home, my dad will throw me back out of the house. Before kicking my ass, that is."

"What about you?" Mark asked April.

April shrugged. "I don't know. Rent a motel room. Maybe try to get a job. I was thinking I could be a waitress or something."

"Well, you know, my parents paid for half of my apartment…so it's not too shabby. There's an extra room, and I don't know what to use it for. I stocked it with some boxes of old tape reels of mine, but maybe if I cleared all that shit out, you two could sleep in there together? I've got extra pillows and blankets. And later on I can get an extra bed."

"And what makes you think April and I are willing to sleep together?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"You did last night, didn't you?" Mark smirked.

"Touche," I muttered under my breath.

"But seriously, Rog- think about it. My apartment's too big for just one person, and you could move in with me. April too. We could split the rent-you could pay your share by earning money from your gigs, I could try to make some money with my film, and April could get a job as a waitress, like she said."

"Sounds like a really twisted sitcom," I laughed. "Like that old show, 'Three's Company.' Except there's be two guys instead of two girls."

"Come on, Rog, quit fooling around. I'm serious."

"Well…I do need a place to stay…at least until my dad decides to let me back in the house."

We both looked at April, waiting for her answer.

She blushed. "Oh, no, I couldn't do that…you two barely know me. It's really sweet of you to offer, but…I just feel like I'm barging in on both of your lives all of a sudden."

"Nothing's wrong with barging in," Mark told her. "If everyone in the world just sat around and twiddled their thumbs all day rather than barging in on people, do you think anything in this world would ever get done?"

"Yeah. Just look at the 60's," I chimed in. I didn't tell Mark that secretly I would really like April to live with us.

"Well…you're sure it wouldn't be a problem with either of you two?"

"Nope," I said.

"As long as you pay your share for the apartment," Mark added.

"Okay…it's a deal, then," April grinned.

I lay back in my seat, satisfied.

For the next half hour, the three of us sat in silence, occasionally pointing out an obscene license plate, or nudging Mark to turn to a different radio station. Unlike my car, his had a wide variety of radio stations.

"Hey, Rog, why don't you play something on your guitar?" Mark asked me.

"Um, no…I don't have anything to play," I said, fiddling with a loose piece of fabric from the interior of the car.

"Don't be modest, Roger. He's really good," he boasted to April, who turned to me. "I thought you said you were only mediocre," she said, smiling with her eyes.

"Roger? Mediocre? That's bull," Mark said. "Play something, Roger."

"Fine," I said finally, fumbling with the locks on the guitar case nervously. I had to cross my leg onto my lap and duck my head in order to balance the guitar comfortably on my knees.

"I wrote this with the band," I said. "It's called 'Drowning.'" I heard a noise of approval from Mark; he enjoyed this song.

Sighing, I began to strum out the chords on the guitar. I had to be careful that I didn't end up elbowing Mark's seat with my arm. My neck began to strain as I leaned downward, holding the neck of the guitar tightly.

Maybe you assume to much

You wouldn't know, I'm drowning in you

Maybe you're hopes are too high; you wouldn't think

I'm drowning in you

I knew that I didn't have the best voice. From the look on April's face, she was enjoying it.

Stars don't burn forever, baby

Autumn leaves eventually fall

But you'd never assume that just as much,

We're like a falling star

When I finally strummed the final chord of the song, Mark began to clap, loudly.

"Put your hands back on the wheel!" I snapped, embarrassed.

April had turned around in her seat, and had been watching me play the whole time. I'd been to absorbed in my song to notice at first.

"That was beautiful," she said, softly.

I shrugged. "It's nothing. I had insomnia, so I just scribbled that down."

"He writes his own stuff all the time," Mark informed her.

"You do?" April asked me, intrigued.

"Thanks, Mark," I muttered.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about. You're talented. Really," April said.

"I've seen people bang trash can lids together, and it sounds a hell of a lot better than I do."

"You'll have to excuse him. He's very fussy about his music," Mark sneered.

"I'm not," I snapped. "You two are just exaggerating."

Mark shrugged. "Whatever."

Not wanting to start a heated argument, I returned the fender to its case, spread out as much as I could along the backseat without impaling myself with all the junk Mark had thrown back here, and closed my eyes.

***

"Roger?"

I awoke to feel April's hands gently nudging me away.

I groaned and sat up. I had a crick in my neck from leaning back too far against the window.

"Hey, Rog, we're home," Mark said.

I stretched, wincing with the pain in my neck, and saw that we were in the small parking lot outside Mark's apartment building. That is, if you would call it an apartment building.

"Do you need help carrying anything?" Mark asked me, as he grabbed his camera.

"Nah. I've just got the fender and my duffel. Bag. I'll be fine," I answered.

Mark shrugged. "Okay, if you're sure."

He led us into the entrance of the building, and then opened the door leading to the stairwell.

"What about the elevator?" April asked, pointing.

Mark shook his head. "That thing hasn't worked in weeks. They keep saying they'll get it fixed, but I think they're just saying that so we'll quit bugging them about it."

"Who's 'they?'" I asked.

Mark made a face. "The landlord. Samuel Grey. Goddamn bastard," he swore. "His daughter's kind of hot though," he grinned, a mischievous smile coming over his face. "Her name's Alison. She lives with her father in the apartment down that hallway," he said, pointing.

I looked at April and rolled my eyes. Typical Mark.

"So- you two wanna see the pad?" Mark asked, leading us up the stairs.

Obediently, we followed him.

"Is that all you brought with you?" Mark asked April, seeing that she was only carrying a purse.

"Yeah…I sort of left the house in a hurry," April said, and I could see that she was uncomfortable talking about it with Mark. "Once I get a job I can buy clothes and all that stuff," she said, shrugging. "It's no big deal."

"Alright," Mark said, as we approached his apartment on the very top floor. He took his keys out of his pocket and began to jiggle with the lock. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you-The Loft," he said, as the door swung open.

I went in first. The floor was littered with empty cardboard boxes, labeled with a black sharpie pen that I was unable to read, due to Mark's scrawled handwriting.

There was a small entranceway, with a narrow closet, and there was a small kitchen- too small for a large table. Mark had placed two barstools in front of the counter to sit on. There was a tiny bathroom, with a toilet that didn't flush, (Mark promised us that he was going to get it fixed,) a small living space in which Mark had placed an old overstuffed sofa and a dinky TV with barely any reception, and two small bedrooms. The one that didn't have any furniture in it yet, I assumed, was going to be mine and April's.

"You like?" Mark asked, catching up with us. "It's not exactly a hotel suite- but it's not too bad."

I nodded in response.

"I'll go get an extra blanket and some pillows for you to from my room," Mark said, placing his camera down on a small wooden table next to the bathroom door.

"Okay," I said, and watched him disappear into his room. I glanced at April. She caught my eye and smiled at me. "Not too bad," she said, as she took another look around the apartment.

I agreed with her. It wasn't too bad at all.