Everything and nothing had changed. They were adults now, supposed to have been matured by success and fame.

They were working on the band’s second album, enjoying the money from their debut’s brief moment of recognition. Everything felt perfect.

Blur was starting to appear on some charts They were the promising new band, and people were eagerly awaiting their next album.

That night, they were finishing the last song for the album at Graham’s house—for reasons none of them could even remember anymore, not that it mattered.

– I hate that movie.

Graham said it suddenly, pointing at the television, his voice soft and slurred. But the way he said it made it sound more like a joke than a complaint.