"Did it hurt?"

Tyler peered over the top of her third glass of white zin and glowered at the man currently invading her personal space.

She eyed him knowlingly. The tight jeans. The casual dress shirt, unbuttoned about three buttons from the top. The leather lace-up dress shoes that were probably the only pair of non-sneakers that he owned. His hair was slicked back with some kind of shiny gel and he not-so-graciously sported a five-o-clock shadow. Here we go again.

"Did what hurt?"

"You know, when you fell from heaven." His smile was laced with obvious signs of teeth whitener and the kind of satisfaction that only comes from really believing you just delivered a great line.

Tyler heard the snickers of nearby patrons and the sound of her wingman spitting his drink all over her shoes. She offered him a chastising smile.

"Yeah, man, so much that it left me with this fucking crack in my ass. Wanna kiss it and make it better?"

Hopping off her bar stool, Tyler shot a sympathetic look at the juicehead who was clearly still trying to decipher her rejection. She grabbed her wingman while he laughed hysterically into the arm of his sweatshirt. "C'mon Jason."

"But Ty! You aren't having fun yet?!"

This was typically how every Friday night went. Come to some dive bar and set up audio equipment, work the set for the band, switch with the next round of audio dudes and then get macked on by every guido/bro/cocky guy in the bar.

Giving Jason an unamused look, she dropped his arm and headed out the back entrance of the club.

Tonight they were working the Bowery Electric, a tiny dive-like club with a basement show room of about 100 people at capacity. The upstairs was a dimly lit and slightly cleanlier bar with fine wooden counters and quilted black leather couches. Couches that you cannot apparently sleep off a hangover on. Tyler had made that mistake more than once to the annoyance of the large and fairly attractive bouncers.

Tyler leaned up against the venue's brick wall and lit up a menthol, using a book of matches that she had snagged from her buddy Frank who was working over at The Plaza on 5th Ave as a concierage. She had no idea how he had even scored an interview...or the clothes for the interview for that matter. But he was constantly stealing her books of matches and intricate, oddly-scented soaps. Which was nothing to complain about since she couldn't usually afford lighters or a good shampoo.

The smoke tingled as she forced it through her nostrils and she grimaced noticing Jason's cheap beer already starting to stain her cherry docs. She'd had them forever but they were still her go-to shoes. Their tough leather was wearing through and probably wreaked of cheap alcohol from all the other similar situations they had witnessed.

Tyler was broke and currently residing in New York City. An obviously bad combination. Well, Brooklyn to be exact. She had a cigarette addiction, a mouth like a sailor and a degree in audio and radio production. This was just another sound gig she was working to pay the rent. She was honestly lucky to have the gigs that she got because most recently graduated audio majors were scooping ice cream or serving up french fries and living in their unsuspecting parent's newly renovated basements. You would think that being around bands all the time was the best job in the world but the groupies and the modelizers that followed them around like drooling puppies became old really fast.

Hailing originally from Boston, she was 21 and an early graduate from a communications school downtown and a "Back Bay Bitch" as she so lovingly referred to herself. She had graduated early in order to save money and to her dismay subletted her hard-earned "62 on the Park" apartment to some spoiled musical theater freshman who refused to "live in an icky dorm". Tyler's dream had always been to be around the music industry, but lacking actual musical talent made this only slightly difficult. Her favorite musicians mostly consisted of what her mother called "head-banging music" that she "had to be high" to listen to. (Not that her mother ever smoked anymore, but being a child of the 70s she made such remarks) The 70s punk and 80s hardcore variety tended to be her poison of choice. Therefore when she found out about her school's underground DIY radio station her natural inclination was to enforce her music upon the hipster-infested campus of her school. She soon discovered that she loved being on-air just as much as being in the mosh pit and quickly inserted herself as a reoccuring DJ on her school's award-winning mainstream station.

Lucky for Tyler she was falling in love with a dying art and was trying to make a career out of it with school loans looming over her head. So when her best friend from college, who had graduated a year and a half before her as a fellow audio major as well, called her from his Brooklyn apartment with a with a job opportunity at an upstart NYC-based audio prouction company she simply couldn't say no.

It had taken her all summer, working for her school's summer residency program and taking summer classes to graduate a semester early, but Tyler had packed her life up into her rotting '70 Oldsmobile Cutlass and driven the five hours to New York City. She was currently crashing on Jason's couch and paying 400 bucks a month to make up the difference for their Brooklyn loft. Jason had felt sorry for her and was giving her a deal since she technically didn't have her own bedroom and was still paying back loans. Not that he wasn't himself but he had been doing pretty well in the year and half or so since his graduation. He'd already toured with a few bands and was currently the Assistant Operations Manager for the start up audio production company branching off Three Tower Audio Inc.

"Yo, Ty!"

Tyler jumped and dropped her cigarette onto the pavement, quickly staunching it out with her boot. "Huh?"

"Don't 'huh' me. You smokin' again?"

She had tried to quit smoking when she moved to New York knowing that Jason hated it. She had hoped that living with him would help her ditch the habit and if she ever wanted to be on-air at a radio station it would be better for her voice in the long run. "No."

Cocking his head to the side Jason scoffed. "Bullshit."

"You know I'm really not drunk enough for the third degree...so either you buy me another glass of wine, big boy, or shut your mouth."

The evening was rather cold for late May anyhow so Tyler eagerly swung her arm over Jason's shoulder, giving his ass a pinch, and allowed him to pull her back inside the dark club. The headlining band was just finishing up their encore and the crowd created a roar of applause and cheering. Leaning up against the wooden bar, Tyler grabbed the glass of wine Jason set next to her and started chugging. Another one of these would make cleaning up band equipment even more of a trip. She allowed Jason to pull her up against him sloppily.

"You're going to be hungover tomorrow. Now is that how a professional roadie does it?" He chided, his own buzz making an appearance in his voice.

Tyler snorted into her drink, not even paying attention to the wine that splashed onto her favorite jeans. "Abso-fucking-lutely."