Early one monday morning, before the sun lit up the floors of my garage, the low buzz of the amplifier echos off the walls into the street. Cheryl was wearing her signature purple stirrup pants, red top and leg warmers. While she glanced up and down her guitar, spencer was counting down in his deepest voice, kissing the microphone. As he got closer to one, Joseph,looking extra spiffy, slid across the garage to the keyboard and slammed his fingers down. M&M’s fly everywhere and the amplifier scream out the cords from the base. As people from the block gather around my garage door I slip into the shadow and watch my band in their first performance. The crowd broke into a loud cheer and threw their hands into the air. I smile and start tapping the wrench on the table. I slip out into the crowd and see the faces of our fans. Excitement shadowed the crowd as they screamed, bumping into eachother. I was being pushed and shoved around, stepping on paper cups and straws. I loved the thrill of it all, but then it slowly ended. The neighbors disappeared one by one. The crowd separating into smaller groups. I walk up to my friends and give a big high five to Spencer. We all huddled around the keyboard talking about our fans. Cheryl grabbed an orange sharpie out of the pocket and kneeled down in front of her keyboard. When she came back up, the bright orange color of the pin read out “Moose” on the front of the dash. We all looked as each other smiling, I was a happy manager of a band names Moose.