A/N: Short, but I didn't want to drag it out. Please, please, review. If I do not get reviews, I will assume that no one is reading this story and that there is no need for it to be continued.
When Roger walked into the Barracuda later that night, ready for his bartending debut, it did not take him long to cross paths with Mark.
"Hey, Roger. What are you doing here? I thought you went to band practice."
"I did. And now it's finished and I'm here."
"So I see." Mark grinned. "Come to observe your rival bands?"
"Actually, I happen to work here."
"Oh, really. Since when?"
"Um… about ten o' clock this morning."
"I see. What shift?"
"Same as yours."
Mark glanced at him suspiciously.
"Did Collins and Benny put you up to this?"
"No, of course not. I just wanted to be able to help out with the rent, that's all. I mean, the band doesn't bring in all that much."
"And of course, this doesn't have anything to do with the lecture you gave me last night on the dangers of walking home by myself."
"None at all."
"Sure."
"Are you mad at me?"
Mark sighed in defeat and allowed a smile to creep across his face.
"No. It's pretty hard to stay mad at you."
"I know. It's a skill that saved me many times throughout my childhood."
"I'm sure. All right, go run along and do whatever it is Rick's paying you to do here."
"You don't have to do this," Mark muttered, pulling his jacket on as he and Roger left the bar a few hours later.
"I know that. I want to."
"I'm not a baby. I don't know why everyone worries about me. It's just a walk home."
"Look, Mark, I know you're not. But let me do this. You brought me into your home when I had no place to go, you've been incredibly kind to me—don't you think I'm allowed to not want you to get mugged again?"
"It wasn't all that serious," Mark protested, but without much conviction.
Roger gave him a look.
"You know, Roger, I have a feeling my life is going to be a lot less quiet from now on."
"You've got that right."
Mark shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
"Oh well. At least I'm in good company."
"Correct again," laughed Roger, throwing a friendly arm around Mark's shoulders. "And tomorrow, we're going to have some fun. Life's too short. Tomorrow—"
"Today. It's past midnight."
"Shut up, Mark. Tomorrow, you and Benny and Collins and me are going out some place. I know this one spot—the Cat Scratch Club—have you been there?"
"I don't think so."
Roger grinned and clapped Mark on the back.
"That's it, then. Tomorrow, the four of us are going. I know for a fact that tomorrow's act at the Barracuda canceled, so we don't have to work."
"Wednesday. That's an awfully random day to go watch strippers."
"Any day is a good day to go watch strippers." They both laughed as they turned the next corner.
"So," Roger began, after their laugher had subsided, "what'd you think of the new drummer tonight?"
"Um… I don't know. He sounded alright to me." Mark was surprised that Roger would ask him this, as Mark wasn't the most musically intuitive person around.
"I thought he was too loud."
"Aren't all drummers loud?"
"I guess. He's kind of a jerk. I'm hoping to find someone better soon. He walked into rehearsal and wanted to do everything his way."
"Oh." Mark wondered where Roger was going with this.
"I just want our band to be the best. We're finally getting into something real, and I don't want anything to jeopardize it."
Mark raised an eyebrow at his friend.
"Rog, I think you're overreacting. It's just a temporary drummer. You can find a new one."
"I know… But until then, we're crippled. I don't want us to get stuck in a rut. I want us to be great."
"Well, you're quickly becoming one of the most popular local bands in the city," began Mark, not understanding Roger's frustration.
"But I want more than drunk groupies! I want to write songs that mean something. I want to do something great. I just… I want to be an artist."
"You are an artist."
"I'm the lead singer of a garage rock band. I'm the pretty boy front man of a group that sings about picking up girls and getting dumped by girls. There's more to life than that. Why can't I capture that?"
Mark shrugged.
"Personally, I'd be pretty happy if I had the experience to write songs about picking up girls."
"You will ask a girl out within the next two weeks, Mark," Roger insisted, his expression changed to a devilish grin. "I'll beat you up if you don't."
"You're such a great friend."
"I try."
"I know what you mean, though. About wanting to capture real life. I don't want to be another Hollywood sell-out. I want to make films that mean something. But… what is real life?"
"I don't know. We're getting a lot deeper than I'm used to, especially this late at night. I guess… a lot of real life's pretty boring. And a lot of it's sad, and a lot of it's happy. But it all balances out, and you can get through it if you've got your friends with you. But how do you play that on the guitar? How do you sing it?"
"How do you film it? We'll find a way, eventually."
"I guess. In the meantime, at least we're not alone, right?"
"Right."