Here's some info on Trevor, the guy who put this all together.
Name: Trevor Jonez
Age: Unknown
Whereabouts: Honeoye Falls, NY
Band status: Guitarist, Singer, Keyboards, backup drums.
Claim to fame: Started this whole damn thing.
Goals in life: Get Nick to learn more songs.
Gear: Fender '57 Strat Reissue and a Johnson Millenium Stereo 150 Amp, various effects pedals.
I really don't know what to say about myself at the moment. I'm Trevor. My hobbies are music, and other stuff. I used to skateboard 
but now I'm mainly into music. My fav bands are the Smashing Pumpkins and Radiohead 
.
Trevor wearing a silly hat.
Trevor eats his cake and wears it too.
"Get away from me!"
Coming soon: Trevor's musical side project; Digital Sunset.
And now...a word.
It's been days since the last rainfall, and while strolling around in the copper twilight I have found myself in the company of four or five friendly companions with whom I have little in common. Conversation is nothing but small talk, mindless blather. The evening has been dominated by seemingly random stops at various night-life centers populated almost exclusively by large men in jeans and t-shirts, with whom I have absolutely nothing in common. We walk amidst a crowd of people, each in their own similar company.
These crowded streets are not paved in gold nor silver; they are barely concrete. Nearby I watch, with unbelieving nausea, a chef in the chip shop opposite shoo a flaming, but living, pigeon from the window of his establishment. The golden phoenix takes to the air like the fireworks my father used to sneak home for my brother and I. Ssssshoooom. I lose sight of the bird as I regain stride with my associates.
My counterparts lead us into the nearby club, a nesting ground for all of the ordinaries. I stand against the back wall, which discomforts me horribly. After an eternity of boredom we emerge from the club. The pigeon is laying in the gutter, horribly burnt, helplessly lost, utterly dead. No new bird of paradise will emerge from these ashes. The bird is left alone.
The sun is nearly gone now, and the moon peaks around the corner of a monolithic building. The streets are less crowded now, but nonetheless busy. A friend looks from side to side, the releases a faint sneeze into the fabric of his gray jacket, and soon regains his demeanor. We pass an old man, huddled on the steps of one of the many cathedrals here. He has no friends. For a moment, I wish I was him. I find my eyes fixated upon his soiled clothes and turn my head to stare at him as we pass by. The feeling passes, and I continue. The old man mutters something as we walk away. All I notice of his rumblings is the word "God."
The dark has now covered the city. It makes no difference to my companions. We soon arrive at another club. Inside, I pass up an offer for a drink, and I head to the back wall. I have to resort adopting a vacuous yet friendly expression whenever any enquiry is directed in my direction. Before settling myself in a fixed position against the back wall, one of my associates introduces me to a girl. We talk, but I soon come to realize that she is too easy for my taste. I tell her I am going to the bathroom, but I do not return. Quickly, I attempt to gather my contemporaries and exit, but they do not want to leave. Indifferent to my pleas, they continue to dance, and I walk out, alone.
As I walk home, I curse at my ordinary life, of which I know no other. Once again in the confinement of my own dwellings, I prepare myself for rest. Sleep comes eventually, and after a brief eight hours of rest, I get up and lead myself into the same day all over again.
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