It was funny, in a way, the two of them reconciling differences in a laundromat. He gave the disapproving woman near then a smirk as Jane let off of him, moving to pull her clothes out of the laundry. He moved soon to do the same.

“Sam wanted to show me some riffs he had made recently,” he started. “We did a short interview in return for some studio time.” He felt the warm clothes in his hands, for a moment distracted by the feeling. Then: “Harold’s been pushing everyone for a new track, apparently. Something tells me he wouldn’t want anything I had in mind.”

He wanted to continue on about the issue. Ask her what she wanted to do with the band moving forward. To follow in the footsteps of the single that had brought them so much attention or refine their earlier sound, and make something interesting out of it. He had been thinking on and off about where they could go from this direction, but other things had quickly become more pressing to him than where to take the next record. 

“Let’s get these clothes back to the room,” he said as he loaded the last of the things. “Then, I’ve got an idea of something we can do.”

He slid his phone out, calling them a ride back. Within another twenty minutes, they were back in the room, putting the last of their clothes back into their proper places. Afterwards, he quickly pulled Jane towards him, holding her by her shoulders and giving her a kiss upon her forehead. 

“As much as I’d like to stay in,” he said, “I think you’ll like where we’re going.” He slid his phone out of his pocket hoping to call another ride, but was confronted with a text:

[i]12:38, Trent:[/i] [b]Holy shit, you guys can’t catch a break.[/b]

Attached to the text was a link to a new article. Some place called [i]Pickups and Hardware[/i]. Yet another indie music blog, no doubt. 

[i]12:39, Rob:[/i] [b]I’ll check it out. Thanks for the heads up.[/b]

[i]12:40, Trent:[/i] [b]No problem. We’re running the circuit, same as you. Text me whenever.[/b]

Rob pressed a thumb on the link, pulling up the website. The headline was a wonderful first sign: [u]”In Bloom” looks to wither long before blossoming.[/u] Real fucking original.

“Fuck me,” Rob muttered to himself, scanning the article, before sliding the phone into Jane’s hands. 

As he waited for her to read it, he could distinctly remember the first few lines:

[i]In Bloom’s second LP seemed to bode success for the band. Within less than a month, the Long Beach Rockers have gone from unknowns to the next big thing? But how long will it last?

Their manager gave me the opportunity to sit down and watch the band during a brainstorming session. But, it was only their guitarist and drummer who showed. Sam Breckenridge and Rob Pennie through around a few ideas for only half an hour, before switching instruments and covering other bands. Were they considering an instrument switch? Or were they trying to get away from Jane’s growing public image? Neither the guitarist, nor the band’s cold, technical drummer would comment on it.[/i]

“That’s not what happened,” Rob muttered after he felt Jane had enough time to absorb the information. “And it’s not Sam. Can’t be. I mean, he’s can be a dick, but…”

Rob rolled his eyes and glared at the ceiling. “Fucking Harold,” he whispered out loud. “He probably told the reporter the whole band was going to show. All me and Sam knew was that he was going it ask us a few things. And he [i]didn’t[/i] ask any of that bullshit about you or some instrument switch. We were just having fun. I guess I know how you feel, now.” 

Rob’s voice dropped a bit lower than before. “They’re probably going to ask us about all this shit at the interview tomorrow.” Taking in a deep breath, Rob did his best to release the thought. Regardless of what that man did or said, he wouldn’t let him fuck up his free day with Jane. He moved to the door. “Fuck him, right? I’m not letting him ruin our day.” He slipped the phone back to him and called the ride. 

Thirty minutes later, Jane and Rob were at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame.