Who Are These Guys?

The Long Island bar was packed, the air thick with the smell of sweat, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke. Mikey Pop and I pushed our way through the crowd, our eyes fixed on the stage where a tribute band was setting up. As we walked inside, the sound of another band attempting to cover Incubus filled the air. We made our way to the back of the room, taking a seat and ordering a round of drinks. The band on stage was struggling to capture the essence of Incubus, and my ego couldn’t resist making a snide remark. “Man, they really suck at this,” I said, laughing obnoxiously. “We sound way better than this.” Mikey rolled his eyes, used to my arrogant behavior by now. But as the band continued to play, I couldn’t help but feel superior. Our hours of rehearsal and dedication had paid off, and it showed in our sound. I took another sip of my drink, feeling the buzz of the alcohol wash over me. As the band finished their set, we made our way to the stage to introduce ourselves. But my ego had already taken over. I was drunk on the feeling of being the best, and did nothing to establish a new friendship with these fellow musicians. As we left the bar, I stumbled a bit, the alcohol weighing heavy on my body. I couldn’t wait to get back to the rehearsal studio, to continue perfecting our sound, and to show the world that we were the best damn Incubus tribute band in existence.

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