Micky finally mustered up enough courage to go out and about. The town was small enough that he didn't need a car (which was good because he'd spent all the money he had on the house) and he walked up and down the streets, looking at the buildings he passed.

He saw a school, a bank, a library, and a bakery. Of those four places, only the bakery was hiring. Micky sighed. He was a shit cook, an even shittier baker, and he knew it.

"Lookin' for somethin'?"

Micky jumped at the sound of the voice and turned around. Michael. Somehow, the dark-haired man had snuck up behind Micky without him even realizing it.

"Wh-What are you doing here?" Micky asked.

Michael smirked. "It's a free country and I happen to live here too, y'know."

"S-Sorry..." Micky looked down at the ground. He and Michael had talked for a little while last night and, thanks to being sober, he remembered every word of it, but somehow he was now tongue tied. He had been upset last night. It was easier to open up then.

"Hello? Earth to Micky."

Micky blinked and shook his head, looking at Michael. "I'm sorry, wh-what?" he asked.

"I asked what you were doing out here."

Micky considered answering with Michael's smartass remark from earlier, but he decided against it. Instead, he answered with the truth. "I'm looking for a job."

Michael snickered. "A job?"

"Y-Yeah...but the only place hiring is the bakery and I'm a shit cook," Micky sighed.

"Hmm...well, what if I said I could offer ya a job?"

"What?" Micky snapped his head up. "What do you do?"

"Well..." Michael trailed off and a slow smile crept along his face. "...it does require some...skill."

"Like what? I'll do anything man, I just can't cook." Micky was practically begging now, but he didn't care. He really needed a job.

"How decent are ya at singin'?"

Micky blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I'm in a band," Michael explained, "and we're lookin' for a singer."

Micky was surprised by Michael's words. Here he was, offering Micky the exact thing he loved to do. Sing.

But...Peter had said there were no local bands in town.

Ah, well. Peter mostly listened to psychedelic music anyway, and Michael didn't look like the type to listen to, let alone play, that sort of thing. Michael's band probably played covers of old country songs by Buddy Holly and Johnny Cash and Hank Williams. Micky liked Buddy's music and he was sure he could learn other country songs too.

"I can sing!" Micky exclaimed. "Does it, um..."

"Does it what?" Michael asked, amused.

"Does it...well, does it pay?" Micky asked.

"Oh yeah, we get quite a few gigs. You might have to work other odd jobs at first, but it'll accumulate."

Micky's eyes lit up. He couldn't believe his luck!

"There's one other thing, though..." Michael said slowly, locking Micky in his intense gaze. "We don't need someone who can just sing. We need someone who can sing and  play the drums."

"Oh." Micky's face fell instantly. "I-I'm sorry, I don't know how—"

"Don't worry," Michael breathed, smirking at him. "I'm sure you can be taught."

Guys I have to vote tomorrow I'm kms