Matt found Lint sleeping in the alley behind Sonic, a new club that had opened just a few blocks from Gilman. A friend had called Matt to report that Lint was in the club, looking haggard, but still managing to get girls to buy him drinks. Lint had been missing Generator's band rehearsals for a month, to the point where there wasn't much of a band left, so Matt had put the word out that he was looking for him.

Matt sat on the ground next to Lint, who was using a jacket as a blanket and a backpack as a pillow, and tapped him on the shoulder. Lint woke up slowly, looking confused and blinking rapidly, his body tense until he spotted Matt.

"Hey," Lint said, his voice raw and gravely. He pushed off his jacket and sat cross-legged next to Matt.

Matt took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit two, and handed one to Lint.

"Thanks," Lint mumbled. He took a hard drag and coughed it out. He ran his hand over his face and pulled his knit cap down so that it was nearly covering his eyes.

"Hey," Lint said. "If I had a dream I was fighting crime with Wolverine, is that gay?"

Matt took a hit off his cigarette and exhaled slowly. "Was he wearing the yellow spandex outfit?"

"Yeah."

Matt nodded. "That's gay. We'll have to kiss." He eyed Lint sideways. "Not now though. You smell like shit."

Lint opened his backpack and took out a half-empty pint of vodka. "What's going on with Generator?" He took a sip from the bottle.

"Well, our guitarist is a homeless alcoholic, so we're pretty much broken up."

Lint looked down at the bottle in his hands. "Sorry," he said softly.

"Come stay with me and Brett," Matt said. He put out his cigarette on the concrete. "We got a futon in the living room. You could crash there."

Lint took another sip of vodka and shook his head. "Can't pay rent."

"Fuck rent," Matt said. "Dammit, Lint. How many years have we been best friends?"

Lint shrugged. "Twenty?"

"And I want twenty more," Matt said. "But you're gonna die like this, and I don't want to make music with anyone but you."

"I'm not making it into my fucking forties," Lint mumbled.

Lint lifted the bottle to his lips, but Matt snatched it out of his hand and threw it hard against the brick wall opposite them, where it shattered. Lint reacted only by sliding down and hunching his shoulders in.

"Get clean," Matt said. "And then we're starting a new band. Me and you."

Tim looked down at the cigarette in his hand, burned practically to the filter, and took a hit from it anyway. "Just me and you?"

"And a drummer," Matt said. "Brett can do it."

"Can Brett play drums?"

Matt fiddled with his pack of cigarettes. "No. But he'll learn."

Lint ground his spent cigarette on the pavement. "And who's our singer?"

"You."

Lint looked up at him. "Matt, on my best days I can't really speak, and you want me to sing?"

It was true that Lint's minor childhood speech disorder had only gotten worse with age and alcoholism. Often friends would talk to Matt and Lint, nod politely, wait until Lint went to the bar, and then ask Matt what he'd just said.

"I called Haven House," Matt said. "They take Medicaid."

Lint put his hands over his eyes. "I don't wanna go."

Matt put his cigarettes in his pocket and folded his arms across his chest. When he spoke, his voice shook. "If you walk away from me now, I'm not coming to find you again." He sniffed. "And if you're not clean, I'm not gonna be in our band."

Lint pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes were wet. "Our band with a drummer who can't play the drums and a singer who can't sing?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, we're gonna be big."

"We're gonna suck." Lint took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. "My Gretsch is still at your place, right? You keep an eye on it while I'm gone?"

Matt's eyes widened. "You're really going to rehab?"

Lint turned to look at him. "Can't have you giving up on me." He leaned forward and kissed him.

Lint tasted like alcohol, cigarettes, blood, and mold. He smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks. His face was alternatively sticky with some unknown substance and prickly from being unshaven. Still, Matt didn't pull away, and when Lint finally broke the kiss, Matt grabbed him in a tight hug.

"I wouldn't really have given up on you," Matt whispered.

"I know," Lint muttered.

They stayed that way for a long time, until a sudden noise from the other side of the building made them jump. The show must've ended, and people were beginning to come out of the club. They stood up and made their way through the alley and to the main road, where Matt's car was parked. There was a small crowd outside the club, and a pretty blond girl took a step towards the car as Matt walked around the far side to unlock the door.

"I know you guys." the girl said. "From Op Ivy. You're Lint, right?"

Matt got into the driver's seat and unlocked the doors. Lint opened the passenger's side door. "Nah," he said. "My name's Tim."

"Oh." The girl shrugged and walked back toward her group of friends.

Tim got into the car and closed the door. Matt started the car and pulled away from the curb. Tim leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to think of words he'd want to sing.