April, 1994.

It was raining outside. Russell Peterson hated the rain.

It had been a bad day, the kind where everything seemed to go wrong. He had a fight with his girlfriend Denise. It seemed to him that she just wanted to do whatever came into her head to make him angry. She left his apartment hours ago, after much yelling, cursing, and things said in the heat of anger that neither would forget (nor forgive). The tension from the fight hung in the apartment like a fog. He’d also received a phone call from his agent: several shows his rock band was booked to do were canceled. This did nothing to improve his mood; he needed the money. To top it off, he discovered a crack in the head stock of his favorite guitar. This meant an expensive repair job that may or may not do any good. And it was his birthday today; he was 27. He didn’t want to celebrate his birthday; didn’t want anyone to know it was his birthday.

Something else was bothering him. Something he didn’t know how to articulate, even to himself, let alone face.

The phone rang. Russell waited until his answering machine let him know who was calling.“Yo, Russ, it’s me. Eddie. You there? Pick up”. Eddie Gilbert was the drummer of the rock band Russell played with.

Russell picked up the receiver.“Yeah. I’m here”.

“Russ, man; what’s up?”

“I’m having a bad day. I should’ve stayed in bed. What’re you up to?”

“Nothing, dude. You ready for tomorrow?”

Russell snorted“Didn’t Pete call you?”

“No. What’s up?”

“That stupid fuck didn't call you? The gigs are canceled."

Eddie let loose a string of semi-coherent obscenities. After his profane verbal ejaculation, he asked why.

Russell scowled;“Some drama with those people in Boston. They screwed up the money, or don’t want to pay us or something. I don’t know. I don’t care. Why should I give a flying fuck?” He was almost yelling.

Silence.“Yo, Russ.” Eddie said,“You don’t sound too good. Something bothering you? You OK?”

Russell took a breath.“Yeah. I’ll be alright”.

“You feel like having a drink?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. Meet me at Rocco’s”.

Eddie chortled;“Man, you must be in a funk if you want to go to Rocco’s. I’ll see you there in a couple hours.”

“Cool”. He hung up the phone.

Russell looked around his apartment. It was a mess. It was always