Disclaimer: no, I don't own the musical or the movie, or any of it. I wish I did, but hey, I'm poor.

MiSs HoLlYwOoD: thank you for your criticism. Sorry about the confusion.

PucktoFaerie: Yeah, Benny was a roommate and I think Maureen was too. I just haven't got them moved in yet.

Hotshot: thank you.

LuthienGranger2004: thank you as well.

Iamari: you rock. Just a side note.

DaggerQuill: really? Oh shoot. Well, for the purposes of this story and the fact that I thought it would be a good place to meet Collins, he goes to NYU. I guess I made a slight Rent AU.

Just a side note to everyone else. Please review! I'm not going to threaten the future of this story because frankly I'm having too much fun, but please?

Roger had moved in yesterday, with his minimal belongings and his guitar. He found out that Collins was trying to get a teaching job sometime soon, but right now the metaphysics of life wasn't exactly handing out careers in education. Mark was living off his parents money, but he said that they would be cutting him off soon if he didn't get a 'real' job.

He decided to go for a walk. Roger went through the neighborhood, guitar strapped to his back and a wanting for a good job. Or just a regular job, he didn't really care either way. He saw a coffee shop up ahead and decided to maybe have a cup of coffee.

The shop was empty at this time of day (noon) and the only person there was a skinny red head behind the counter drinking a cup of coffee from a plain mug and reading a book of poems.

"Um, hey," he called over the counter after sitting down and waiting for a few minutes. The red head rolled her eyes, flipped the book closed and walked over, cupping the coffee mug in her hand.

"Yeah, what do you want?" she asked, annoyed. He ran his hand over his short blonde hair.

"Well, um, maybe a cup of coffee?"

"Would you like cream with that sir?" The derision was heavy in her voice and when he nodded, she stalked off, setting the coffee down with a thud. He had half a mind to just walk off and find another place for a cup of coffee, but he was thirsty, so he stayed.

"Do you know of any job offerings around here?" he asked when she brought the coffee to him, slamming the green mug down on the counter, a little of the brown liquid sloshing out.

"Depends, you have a college degree sugar?" she said the word 'sugar' like she was cursing, and he was taken aback.

"Does high school count?" he tried to joke, but the tough red head would have none of it.

"Real cute punk. The only place you might get into is Murray's down the street, and that's if you're any good with that thing you've got slung over the back of your seat," she went back to her book and the coffee. It was Roger's turn to roll his eyes. He dropped three dollar's on the counter and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Up ahead was the awning of Murray's, red and white stripes. A old man sat outside smoking a cigarette, and he waved congenially. Roger walked up to him.

"I heard there was a job offering here. That true?" Roger asked. The man smiled and continued smoking. Roger took it for a yes and walked inside.

Murray's was small and dark, with a long bar and a stage at the end of the narrow room. A few patrons sat at the dimly lit tables, and a insanely thin man stood behind the bar, serving drinks to a buxom blonde.

Roger took a seat at the end of the bar, and the skinny man came down to him. He had a thatch of brown hair and was dressed in all black.

"So what do you want?" this man was a little more cordial than the last person he met behind the counter.

"How about a job?" the man raised his eyebrow.

"Little forward. We could start with a drink," Roger nodded and the man brought out a beer.

"I'm going to run out of money soon and according to the chick at the coffee shop I can get a job here," the stick man smiled.

"Depends," he laughed a little, "can you play anything?"

"I take it you want rock?" Roger grinned.

"Well, it may not look like it now, but on Friday nights we get pretty loud. Most of the time we have a full house. And it's not a job, more a gig, and if you're good, you can get a recurring gig," the man smiled, "so," he asked, "can you play?"

"Can you serve drinks?" Roger chuckled a little at the man's nod, "what do you want me to play?"

"Hey, it's your audition boy, do whatever you want. And, do it onstage. If you're going to play this gig, you might as well feel out the audience."

Roger stepped away from the bar and walked over to the stage area. Minor attention turned to him, and he smiled a little, and unpacked his acoustic guitar. He sat down on the stool at the stage, and started to play a little something he wrote when he first got into town.

The audience perked with interest a little, and most of them lulled their conversations away at this unexpected entertainment. Roger might not be a star, but just like he knew, he was a good player, and a good vocalist. The skinny brunette in the corner swayed a little with the tune, and he was merely lost in the melody.

At the finale of his performance, he got a good sized clap and the man at the bar motioned for him to come and talk.

"My name is Jake," he shook Roger's hand, "and I think you're going to be with us for a while boy, until you become a star."