Micky slid his time card though the clock and punched out. He worked at a factory and was glad his shift was over because he absolutely hated it. His life dream was music. He played the drums and a little guitar. He had even written a few songs. The only problem was finding a band. So far, he hadn’t had much luck.
He was walking down the street towards home when he heard the most amazing guitar playing. He walked towards the music feeling it pulsing though his veins and drawing him in. He followed the sound down an alley and then suddenly it stopped. He waited for what seemed like endless minutes for it to begin again and when it did not, he almost felt his heart break. He wanted so much to be apart of it. He walked the rest of the way home in a sad daze still hearing the song in his head.
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Over the next few days, Micky would leave work and run to hear the music. Every day, he tried to find where it was coming from and every day it would stop before he could. On the fourth day, he decided leaving work early was the only way he was going to find out where that music was coming from.
He clocked out early and ran to the alley where the music was coming from. This time he was determined to find it. He slowly walked down the alley until he came to a heavy wooden door. He opened it and the music got louder.
It was a bar. A small smoke-filled bar that he never knew existed. Up on the tiny stage was a man with long sideburns and dark hair playing the guitar. Behind him sat an empty drum kit. Micky casually walked up and starting drumming to the music. The man turned around and gave him a nod of approval.
Together, they played a few more songs. The man set down his guitar and walked over to Micky with his hand out. “I’m Mike Nesmith.”
“Micky Dolenz.” They shook hands like two old friends. “You’re incredible.”
“Thanks. You’re good on the skins too.” He put his black guitar in his case. “But hang around because the next guy will knock you off the chair. His name is Peter Tork and we’ve been thinking about starting a band together.”
Micky and Mike settled down to watch Peter. Mike was right, Micky almost fell off the chair. He played a whole slew of instruments and every one of them extremely well.
“Hey, Mike.” Micky leaned over and whispered. “Need a drummer for that band?”
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Micky, Mike and Peter sat up all night talking about their band. They started practicing together the next week, each of them contributing songs and music. It wasn’t long before they were playing at the same bar where Mike and Peter had played when Micky had met them. They were also able to get a few other small gigs. Nothing paid much, but they were willing to wait for their chance.
They were walking down the street on the way home from their afternoon gig at the bar one afternoon talking. “You know, there’s only one problem with all this?” Micky said.
“Only one?” Peter laughed.
“Yeah, not enough girls are crowding around us.” He answered.
“We just started.” Mike chuckled. “That will come later, when we’re famous.”
“Yeah, but look at that short guy over there.” Micky pointed to a man in the park. “He must have 15 girls hanging around him and he isn’t anyone either.”
The three of them stopped and looked at each other. All three smiled and together they walked over and met Davy Jones.
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