2001-09-07 - 7:08 a.m.

We get to the Guitar Center just as it�s closing. Marius knocks on the door and the girl he�s always hitting on cracks it open.

�Come on. Can I just come in there for a minute?� he asks.

�I don�t think so. We�re closed,� she says.

�Come on. Let me just bang on the drums for a minute.�

�No,� she says. �You definitely can�t come in for that.�

�Okay. No vids tonight?� She says no and closes the door.

We wander back to the car and drive off. Nobody�s buying vids any vids here. The vids just aren�t doing well enough. He isn�t making enough money. More and more people these days tell him to call him when he gets DVDs. Maybe it�s a dying business.

That�s why he�s got a new idea. Tickets. That�s where the serious money is. This guy he met yesterday turned him on to it. Gave him 20 Tool tickets. Sell them for a hundred apiece, give the guy $1,500, pocket $500 for himself. Easy money. The show sold out in about two minutes, he says. Easy money.

He could make a bundle off Madonna tickets, too. The guy wants two thousand apiece for those. �Two THOUSAND,� he says. But he figures if there are people who will pay two thousand for them, maybe they�ll pay him three thousand.

�Where you gonna find somebody to pay three thousand for a ticket?� I ask him.

�It�s Ma-DONNA, dude,� he says. �Third. Row.� Luckily the guy hasn�t given him the tickets. If he doesn�t find a buyer, it�s no problem. He�s stuck with the Tool tickets, though. But those are easy money.

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We head to the Metro, where Gravity Kills is finishing up a gig. Marius is down the road a spell, setting up his videos on a bike rack. People are start filter out, each leaving with a silver goodie bag filled with advertisements � a Smirnoff t-shirt, a CD, some stickers. More marketing to the kids, more garbage for the world.

Two kids, Brian and Brian, stand outside with their bags and wait. They expect the rest of the crowd to file out any minute, but for some reason the music keeps playing.

�They told us they were through, man,� Brian says. Never trust a rock band. They�ll tell you it�s over, then play another dozen songs the minute you turn away. But no matter. They�ve heard enough. They can enjoy themselves just as well out here, away from the moshing.

�I�m getting too old for this,� Brian says. He�s got short matted hair and a goofy smile. �I�m 23 years and two days old.�

�How do you think I feel? I�m 27,� puts in the other Brian, a blond-headed, sincere-looking fellow. �I fell down, what, five times. And I got picked up five times.� He stops to correct himself. �Well, no. Actually I picked myself up five times.�

Ten minutes later, they�re still out there waiting. The younger Steven shouts out to the girls who pass by, not expecting them to respond� Hey baby, you enjoy the show?

They look up to the sky. Two men have appeared on the roof of the Metro to take down the words �Gravity Kills.� He turns his shouts to the man with the letters, to anyone who will listen to him. He doesn�t give a damn. He�s 23, he�s been around.

�Give me an E!� he says. �No. Make it �Poverty Kills.��

Then their friends come out, a couple of kids, including a 14-year-old with a bloody nose, all pumped up and wild-eyed, proud of his bloody nose and ready for the next concert.

These kids, these poor, lost kids who don�t know what they want. The band comes out a side door and dozens of these kids are standing there waiting for him. The lead singer, a guy named Jeff Scheel, turns to thank them, and some give him things to sign. They all stare up quietly at this man they�ve seen on stage and in videos, this star. The band may not be that big these days, but they�ve been on TV, they�ve been hyped by the marketers, the people who put together the little corporate goodie bags they�re all holding. They know that this man standing before them, this Jeff Scheel, has value, he is an important man.

One guy from the crowd calls out to him; he�s an old friend.

�Hey, man, how you doing these days?� Jeff says.

�Pretty good, man, pretty good. I went to grad school, got my degree, you know,� the guy in the crowd says.

They�re catching up on old times, only between them are about a dozen kids, just standing there facing Jeff. They just stare there silently, watching him talk to an old friend, but barely aware of the person he�s talking to. That guy, he�s not on TV or onstage, he�s a nobody like them, no reason to look at him. It�s this guy, this Jeff Scheel, who means something, who has something to say, because he�s been on stage and on TV. The other guy, they won�t make way for him to let him chat with his old friend.

Eventually they say goodbye, and the singer just stands there with his entourage, not wanting to leave them because he wants to look appreciative. And the crowd�s not going anywhere either; they just watch him like he�s on TV, just sitting there and absorbing, not knowing what they�re waiting for him to do but feeling like they should keep watching this scene because it�s there and maybe something will happen. Then, after consenting to a photograph with a few girls, he hops in his truck and the crowd breaks up slowly and quietly, looking dazed.

I go back to find Marius. He�s probably about ready to go.

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