A dark gray Kia Forte pulled into the pickup and drop off circle of the Philadelphia International Airport. Lucas tapped the Uber app on his phone, which was mounted to the dash, and indicated that he had picked up his fare. Luke pulled the lever to pop the trunk, where there was just enough space for his passenger to place his luggage. After a few moments, the trunk shut, and an elderly man opened the door to sit in the back.

The man settled into his seat with an exhausted sounding groan. Lucas checked in the rearview mirror, meeting his gaze. As usual, Luke started conversation by confirming the fare’s destination. This one must be pretty well-off, based on where he was headed. “The Rittenhouse, right?”

“That’s the one.” The old man nodded thoughtfully. He looked around the interior of the vehicle, undoubtably noticing the endless boxes of shit Lucas had packed in there.

“Sorry about that, I’m in the middle of moving.“ Lucas offered a clarifying apology. He was, in fact, still getting his new life together. Most of the basics were already in his apartment, but his vehicle currently held the necessities. Namely, his records and his guitars. The old dude was thumbing through the records curiously.

“Not bad taste for a youngin’, they certainly don’t make music like they used to.”

“Tell me about it.”

The man paused in his flipping and gave a breathy laugh. He tapped the record cover with an arthritis-knotted knuckle. “I met her once… Joan.”

“You met Joan Jett?”

“Well it ain’t that hard to believe. She’s from here, and I’m old.” Another breathy chuckle escaped his lips. He coughed, a smokers cough, as Luke well-recognized. The man rustled in his pocket and pulled out a fancy tin of cigarettes and an even classier metal lighter. “Would you mind?

“No,” The man was ancient, probably rich, and he’d met Joan Jett, he could do whatever he damn-well pleased. He didn’t need to ask Luke for permission. Lucas reached into the cubby hole by his knee and pulled out a much less fancy pack of cigarettes and his own classless plastic red lighter. “would you?”

“Cheers!” The old man said jovially to the reflection of Luke's eyes in the rearview as he lit up. The pair smoked silently for a few moments as Lucas navigated the painful downtown Philly traffic. “Judging by the accent, I’d place you as a Jersey native.”

Lucas smiled brightly in the mirror. “Damn straight,” Luke replied and they both laughed.

“Why’d you come here?”

“Needed a fresh start for my music.”

“Ahh, a musician. That makes sense.” The old man said and patted the box of records for emphasis.

“Yeah, I just signed with a record label too. That’s why I’m moving.”

“That’s fantastic, son.” He replied, arching his bushy gray eyebrows in surprise. Lucas parallel parked in front of the hotel that the man would be staying at. The younger man turned to face his passenger and offered a rare, warm smile to the elder. This prompted the man to ask Luke a question. “What’s your name?”

“Lucas Piccoli, sir.”

“Make me a promise, Lucas.”

Luke raised his own eyebrows now, hesitantly nodding in response.

“Stay away from the hard drugs, we’ve lost too many legends to ‘em.”

“Absolutely.” Lucas agreed quickly and completely. “And what was your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The old man said with a smile and then exited the car. He retrieved his suitcase from the trunk and came around to the passenger side window. Bending down slightly, he met Luke’s gaze again. “Good luck, kid,” he said before tapping his hand on the door lightly, and then turning to walk away.

Lucas watched as the mysterious old man faded into the entrance of the luxury hotel. The entire drive back to his new apartment, Luke pondered who the hell that man might have been. He was an enigma. Lucas didn’t recognize him, but he had this sneaking suspicion that he was someone important. The whole experience left him feeling surprisingly uplifted and inspired.

Upon arriving home, Lucas parked his car in the back of the Endeavour apartment building and began to unload his things. He strapped a guitar case over his shoulders and hoisted the heavy box of records in his arms. Luke had to hipcheck the car door closed, and then he headed upstairs to his new abode.

There was a sign on his door, informing him of a meeting at the bar next door. Lucas entered his apartment and set his records on the cluttered counter top. The place was still a shitshow of boxes and random moving crap. He hadn’t yet had the time to organize and, Lucas being who he was, he would probably never make the time to do so. Luke checked the time on his phone, to see how long he had until this supposed meeting.

No time, apparently. Negative time, actually. He was late. The short punk hustled down the steps and towards the bar. By the time Lucas slid in through the doors as quiet and pale as a ghost, Mitch was halfway through whatever speech he was giving. Very inspiring stuff.

There were… a lot of people in this room. Luke immediately took to leaning against the back wall with his hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans. Lucas then did what Lucas did best: people watch. He didn’t see any faces besides Mitchell that he recognized, with the exception of one. Was that redhead that one famous bitchy pop star... Tarika, was it? Jesus Christ, maybe he’d made a mistake signing with this label. She was one hundred percent not in his scene.

Luke was supposed to be on the lookout for potential bandmates. Scanning the crowd, he was less than impressed with people based on face value alone. Of course, looks didn’t equate to talent, but sometimes you could tell that someone runs in the same crowd as you by their style. Perhaps someone would come to him if he just… waited back here. The slight scowl on his face and leather jacket did wonders in making him look friendly and approachable.

As if on cue, a loud slam sounded beside him as the door he himself had just come through swung open. In walked a badass looking chick with some kind of skunk hair thing going on. Lucas could dig it, he was into switching up his own hair on occasion. He barely looked her way out of the corner of his eye, but he was assessing her nonetheless. She noticed.

“Hey shortstuff.”