𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

Mike Watt

The basement buzzed with sound, amps humming, strings bending, William's snare popping off sharp and tight as he warmed up with a series of practiced fills. Iris tuned her guitar by ear, head tilted, fingers precise. Nate sat on a low stool in the corner, tapping his fingers against the fretboard of his bass, looping through the intro to Floaty while Dave scribbled some notes on a yellow legal pad by the mixing desk.

Their next show was less than a week away, booked at The Crocodile, one of Seattle's staples, loud and packed and grungy in all the right ways. A friend of a friend had helped them snag a last-minute opening slot after another act dropped. It wasn't massive, but it was real. And it was local enough that a handful of people who'd been at the Marine Store gig were already talking about coming again.

"I'm telling you," Dave said, leaning back in his chair, "if we can actually land Floaty clean this time, we should open with it. It's weird in a good way. Like, attention-grabbing."

"I don't know," Nate said, plucking a few low notes and frowning. "I still feel like I'm fighting that verse."

"You are fighting it," Iris teased. "But only half the time."

"Appreciate the optimism."

William gave his cymbal a test hit and chimed in. "It'll click tonight. Just takes a dozen or so tries."

Iris grinned as she set her guitar strap over her shoulder. "You make it sound so easy."

Dave was about to count them into a new take when his phone, sitting on a stack of cables, started buzzing. The vibration was loud enough to cut through the chatter, and Dave instinctively reached for it. The screen lit up with a name: Mike Watt.

His heart jumped. "Whoa. Hold up."

Everyone looked over.

Dave answered. "Mike. Hey, man."

"Dave Grohl," came the gravel-warm voice on the other end. "What's up, brother? I catch you at a good time?"

Dave grinned and shifted the phone against his ear, gesturing to the others to take five. "Actually, yeah. We're rehearsing right now for a show next week, playing The Crocodile. Trying to sound like we know what we're doing."

Mike chuckled. "The Croc, huh? That's a solid spot."

"Yeah, it's starting to feel like a real thing, you know? Pretty crazy. People are showing up. Iris, our guitarist, she's killing it. Nate and Will from Sunny Day jumped in and we've been building it piece by piece. It's coming together."

There was a pause on the other end, then Mike cleared his throat. "That's good to hear, man. I was actually calling about that message you left me a few weeks back. Tour inquiry."

Dave straightened up a bit. "Oh, yeah. I was kinda throwing a long shot out there. Figured if you needed an opener, we'd be all in."

"Well, it ain't a long shot anymore," Mike said. "I've got a tour coming up in April, me and Hovercraft, that's Eddie Vedder's other group. Hitting spots around the country. I was talking with Ed and the team, and I said, 'You know who we need? Dave.'"

Dave blinked. "Wait. Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. You're in if you want it. I'll send you the dates and lineup stuff once it's all cleaned up."

Dave laughed, overwhelmed with adrenaline. "Mike, man. Hell yes. That's incredible. We're in. Absolutely."

Mike chuckled on the other end. "Hey, don't thank me yet. Gotta give you the straight-up version, Grohl."