Dісk's admiration for people who were actually close and liked their bandmates couldn't be described. He loved being in a band, but there was only one problem.

Dісk's bandmates, to say the least, were not the most polite. Or respectful. Or... anything good, and he was ashamed to be associated with them.

He was the lead guitarist and vocalist, so he got the most attention, luckily. As with most bands, no one cared about the bassist, meaning people cared less about the others.

He and the rhythm guitarist were waiting outside the venue, paying no mind to each other. Dісk was carefully watching the other man.

The guitarist, Fred, initiated a conversation with some random person. Fred lit a joіnt, leading Dісk to walk over and place his hand on his shoulder.

"Hey. I don't think I plugged in my guitar. Can you go... do that for me?" Fred rolled his eyes, put out the jоіnt, and walked into the venue.

"Hey, I'm sorry about him. He's... awful. Did he say anything to you?" he prayed to god that Fred said nothing to you, but he knew the chances were high, just like Fred.