I've got my own personal wall. And it's just begging to be vandalized.

Vandalize my wall!

Talk about a time you realized that someone close to you was not the person you thought you knew.

You can never really know a rock star. And they can never really know you.

It's understood. They're here to create. You're here to inspire. Both of you are here to experience. And what you experience has nothing to do with the real world, where people remember how comfortable you were, how at home in shades of gray, before you discovered you could paint yourself in the truer colors of sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. You may bring out the worst in each other as well as the best, and that's okay. Because no matter what you feel together, it's more real than anything you had in the real world, anything that fell somewhere in that vast expanse of gray. This is the magic behind the music, and you can't get enough of it.

( But the magic doesn't last forever. )

Cross-posted to theatrical_muse.

Penny pulls into the Channel 4 News Station at 6:30, wearing her best dress and a silk shawl given to her by Marc Bolan of T. Rex (who'd been in the habit of giving her things she rarely had the opportunity to wear). She wanted to look passingly elegant, though she's aware this is ridiculous for many reasons. Not the least of which is that once she leaves here, she'll be spending the rest of the evening in a car with a man who managed to perform several sexual acts on her hand using just his moustache.

Parking her dilapidated yellow Chevy Vega, Penny hops out onto the macadam, checks to make sure the food she brought hasn't liquefied on the drive, then heads for the station entrance with a purposeful stride.

( The first person she encounters inside is Channel 4's current front desk secretary, a dour-faced woman with badly dyed red hair and an overabundance of green eye shadow. )