Sinking into the sofa, I plead, “Kipliegh, I’m exhausted. Please? I know I promised. Seriously, what is it with you and these starving musicians?” She’s primping, not listening. We both know she’s already won.

“JEN!” She screams, what she thinks that will accomplish, I cannot tell. “Come on! Remember Drake? He’ll be there.”

I remember. “Drake’s not even his real name Kip.”

“You didn’t care about that last week, come on Jen, let’s get the heck out of here! This is it, this is our time. You won’t even know it, then your 30 and wondering where your life went.”