It’s late. You’re headed up to your hotel room, ready to go straight to the bed.

You’re already inside the hotel elevator, leaning back against the wall, staring vaguely at the glowing floor numbers as they tick down.

The doors start to slide shut.

And then—

“WAIT—WAIT—WAIT—WAIT—WAIT!”

Four figures come barreling down the hallway at full speed. Who you quickly recognize as the Monkees. They look like they’ve just come straight from a show.

Mike ducks in first, nearly shoulder-checking the door frame. Davy slips in right behind him, hair slightly mussed, jacket half-open.

Micky practically launches himself through the opening, skidding a little. Peter stumbles in last. It seems like they don’t even notice you.

Mike immediately slams his hand on the CLOSE button.

“Closeclosecloseclose—”

Micky turns around and starts frantically jabbing it too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, we are NOT doin’ autographs in the lobby again—”

Davy presses himself against the wall, peeking out into the hallway like he’s expecting a mob to appear at any second.

Peter’s breathing a little hard, clearly out of breath. “Did anyone see us?”

Mike glances at the narrowing gap of the doors. “Not yet.”

The elevator doors slide shut.