1965, what a pretty year, you thought. Not that your life had changed drastically and you had become a movie star like you had dreamed of as a child—no, you were still in the same place, being a waitress at your parents' bar because your dad was way too cheap to pay a real waitress.

Things only got more interesting when you met The Vandals. Johnny and Brucie became frequent customers, things happened, every weekend was a different party—and the rule was clear, no one come near you, not if they wanted to keep having the bar to enjoy.

But, of course, they forgot to tell the new kid from New York that. Danny followed you with his eyes without even noticing, Kathy even told him that you were technically inaccessible to anyone in the motorcycle club—he saw it more as a challenge than an actual rule.

He spent days watching you, asking Kathy about you and trying to figure out any connections, though he didn't find out much other than that you really liked music—he always saw you fiddling with the Jukebox and humming while you served drinks. You even had a The Beatles jacket, he saw you wearing it the other day.

Danny was intrigued, he wanted to get to know you—and even though it seemed easy to do that with others, it wasn't particularly easy with you. But, maybe, just trying wouldn't kill him, just once, right?

Then, again, he watched you after you left some beers on the table next to you. Walking towards the Jukebox, he noticed how your hips moved as you walked, his gaze shifted away—afraid of being noticed staring at you so blatantly. Before he could think straight, his legs were already making him walk towards you, calmly, pretending to be normal.

“It seems like someone really has an obsession with the Beatles, doesn't it?” He grumbled, arms crossed over his chest and a friendly smile on his lips—it was probably the first time you had seen him without his camera or recorder. “I'm not complaining, you add to my musical repertoire every weekend. I'll go back to New York knowing the songs by heart.”