*a/n: This is my very first STROKES fic, so be nice and kind. I'd love reviews. Please, review.*
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I was dragged there by Fab who swore that they were the best new thing since us, or at least that's what his girl, Drew, said. Off the record, I think Drew is a fucking nutcase.

She's a nutcase not because she thought they were a good band, but because she's dating Fab, who's a freak. I told him one time that I didn't want him to talk when he was around me. That worked great.

I changed my clothes for the first time in weeks for that show which was amazing. The clothes still weren't clean, but they had aired out a little over time. I smelled of Jack Daniels and Heineken and cigarettes, and Drew eventually pointed out to me later that night that I had a little bit of coke on the lapel of my jacket.

"There's this girl, Jules," Drew said to me across a smoke filled lounge in the East Village. "She plays drums and she's beautiful."

"She's better than me."

"Everyone's better than you, Fab." I was joking and he smiled, taking a drag off of Drew's cigarette. He was tapping out some kind of beat on Drew's thigh and she just smiled, proving further that she's a complete nutcase for putting up with him and his fascination with rhythm.

"Her name is Cassandra. Cassie." Drew said again, speaking of the girl. I knew what she was getting at and I wondered what exactly she was expecting to come out of that night. "You'd like her."

"Stop it, Fab, you're pissing me off." I glared at the boy and he set his hands down flat on her thigh, quitting his rhythm. I looked back at Drew with bored eyes. "I don't like girls in bands. I don't like girl bands."

"Why? What's wrong with that?"

I shook my head. "Nothing, Drew." I sighed and continued to patronize her with my dry tone. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"You can be a real ass sometime, you know, Jules?"

"I know." I smiled submissively and let my eyes wander around the lounge or bar or whatever the fuck it was. Teens and college students stood around, looking artsy and emo or indie or something trendy like that. I prayed that the band wasn't going to be another college radio anthem full of teen angst with emotion oozing from their music. I'd sooner shoot myself.

There was a nice black bracelet with white letters on my wrist from that night. There were also bracelets from the Stooges and, my biggest mistake, the Jets.

Lights dimmed in the lounge and the small stage just a few tables in front of us lit up. Four shadowed figures walked on slowly, took their places, and played.

I yawned and situated myself, listening to the music, trying to decide if I liked it. It was okay and the drums actually were alright. The bass line sucked, though, and the vocals could use a lot of help. I liked the lyrics and the guitar.

And the drums. I liked the drums.

Drew and Fab went onto the little space in front of the stage and moshed or po-goed or whatever it was. I sat at the table, a little sulky, drinking another Heineken and smoking another cigarette. I kept my chin on my chest and my eyes on the drummer.

Drew was right, the girl was really pretty. I don't know about beautiful or stunning, but there was something in her that caught my eye. Black hair and some off colored set of eyes, and she was really pretty. I swore a few times that she was looking at him, but she had that same off kilter look I get when I'm on stage. I look at no one, I see nothing, and I look like I'm going to have a stroke any moment.

Her cheeks have roses blooming on the skin and she's starting to collect sweat in her black hair. There are matching tattoos on each of her collar bones, which intrigue and bother me to no end. I fidget in my seat, trying to get a better look at them, but I failed.

Finally, I stood up and pushed my way through the crowd, acting like I was "moshing" for the music and not for the chance to see what lied on the drummer's collar bone. I'm pathetic.

Drew was smiling with her arm around Fab. She points at me and smiles, Fab smiles, too. Her plan is working and she laughs and they go back to moshing or something. I stand there, being slammed against by some kids. I take it, it doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that the music isn't even that hard and they're taking it like its fucking Slipknot.

I keep pushing forward to the stage, to get a better look at her skin. The standing crowd is small, but vicious and every step I make to get closer to her, I get pushed back again. I finally make it to the stage, planting my feet firmly so that I won't get shoved back again, away from view of her tattoos.

And it's over. It was over. The lights dimmed on the stage, the lead singer said a closing word or two and then the band started their walk off stage. I reached up on the stage and grabbed the drummer's ankle.

She bent down towards me and smiled, damp black hair clinging to her skin.

"Hi," she said.

"What's on your collar bone?"

She tugged the neck of her shirt down a little farther to show me the black ink on her pale white skin. "Spades." She said, and stood up and walked off stage.

And she was beautiful.

Fuck Drew.