Hopeless Haze - Volume I: Hot Fuss (Remastered)

13: Bring Yourself Down

AUGUST 23, 2004

In somewhat-typical fashion, The Killers are running late. The four members and their loyal tour manager are huddled in the hotel room that Ronnie and Brandon share. Jeremy thought if they were all together, no one would wander. On any other day, Ronnie may have made a comment about how it feels like they are being chaperoned. Today, however, the pleasant and level-headed Jeremy does not seem like he is in the mood for jokes.

They landed in London the day before and, despite Jeremy's best efforts, the time difference has left them scrambling. Even the steadfast manager himself overslept. Ronnie makes note that it may be the only time he's seen Jeremy falter, not that he cares. The man works himself to the bone and he definitely needed the "extra" sleep. When he relays this sentiment to Jeremy, Ronnie is only met with a glare.

It's not an interview or radio appearance that will suffer from their tardiness, but rather the one and only Mick Rock. Even Brandon, who has trouble with punctuality on a good day, is utterly flustered. It doesn't stop him from putting on a baseline make-up look, of course.

"Oh shit. Wait," Ronnie interjects the tense silence, "we're not gonna have time to eat."

"Ronnie. I love you, man. And I don't mean to be rude, but is food all you think about?" Jeremy mutters without hesitation. He is on hold with the van company that is bringing them to the photoshoot.

"We're going to look undead if we go in there without eating first," Ronnie defends himself. "I'm sure Mick would love to work with four hangry Americans that are already late for their shoot."

"We don't have time," Brandon speaks through an open mouth, courtesy of the eyeliner pencil he's wielding under his eye.

"I don't want to stir the pot, but I might die if I don't eat," Dave concedes. Before anyone else can interject, Ronnie responds,

"There's a corner store four steps away from the front door. I can just go and grab a bunch of small shit. We can eat it on the way there."

"If we miss a second van, they will charge us for it," it's clear that Jeremy's patience is waning.

"We don't even know when the next van is coming. If I go right now, I'll be done in five minutes-"

"Oh my God, dude. Just go!" Jeremy doesn't yell this, though it may be the closest anyone has come to hearing it. Ronnie suddenly feels embarrassed, "If the van shows up and you're MIA, we're leaving you."

With that, Ronnie bounds out the door and makes his way to the elevator. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't also looking for an escape from that hotel room.

A few minutes pass before Ronnie finally enters the convenience store, slightly out of breath from his rush. Ronnie smiles at the cashier but earns only a nod in response. He heads directly for the dry snacks aisle and realizes he didn't ask anyone what they might want. Without much of a second thought, Ronnie grabs some chips (or crisps, rather), six granola bars, a large bag of trail mix, and two packages of Twinkie-wannabes.

Ronnie speedwalks toward the register and drops his smorgasbord of a "breakfast" onto the counter. He's grateful that the cashier doesn't seem interested in small talk. Then, Ronnie's eyes pass over a magazine display on the endcap closest to the cashier station. His eyes land on the most recent issue of NME with a certain shaggy-haired, sheepishly-coy lead singer gracing the cover. He's leaning forward, face ever so slightly turned to his right as if to show off the freckle that sits in line with the corner of his mouth right at the center of his cheek.

Brandon's everywhere, apparently. The constant image of Brandon that echoes in Ronnie's mind has begun to project into the real world, and it's strange. Exciting, because it means the band is going places, but strange to think that they are no longer in control of their perception in the public eye.