There was only one offer Flash was waiting for and one month after his 24th birthday, the call came.. On the other end of the line was the great Adrian Mandibone from Veracity Stryker. Flash knew it right away, the speaker's melange of northern English and central New Jerseyan accents meant it could be nobody else. In fact, the first album Flash ever owned was Mandibone's solo LP, "Down the Bloody Shore.” Moreover, Veracity Stryker's new single, "Love You Like a Freakin' Monsoon" had been playing on his stereo ever since it’s release. This was it.
For five minutes they spoke about jazz, politics and the weather. They commiserated about the suffocating curse of artistic brilliance and the terrible burden they share with so few others. Flash made the first move.
"Adrian....man, you guys are the only band that makes music that matters."
He chuckled, "You know, you're absolutely right. All these bands say they're influenced by...Dylan and the Beatles and all that crap..."
Flash jumped in, "Yeah, but you , you're into something deeper, like Keats, Kierkegaard, Siddharta, stuff like that. I can totally hear it with you guys." He stopped to let the compliment sink in. From outside he could hear a car approach. A dog barked, a cat cried out in terror. The pause in the conversation seemed way too long. Flash feared that he may have said something very, very bad. Finally, Adrian continued.
"Listen, Flash. You know why we called..." Flash bit his lower lip, hoping that he was guessing correctly. "Me and the boys want you to join the band.... tomorrow. We have a gig at the Wine Cellar in the city at the end of the week and then we hit the arenas. It may seem like short notice, but the way you rocked with that seafood band...."
"No problem, just tell me where we're going to meet."
A smile building across his face, Flash scribbled down the directions to V.S. headquarters in Newark. He hung up and ran straight for his radio, turning the volume knob as high as he could stand it.

"Oooh pretty baby, with your silver spoon,
I'm gonna love you like a freakin' monsoon."

He put the CD on repeat, poured himself a drink and went to sleep.
At 3:30 A.M., Flash awoke in a panic. Dreams, nightmares, even more vivid than reality raced through his mind. Visions haunted him of the time he scored on his own goal in fourth grade soccer, the first three girls he asked to the prom, and the time in eighth grade when he got beat up by Charlie Guccioni's little sister, Angel. Everybody was chasing him, his coach, his friends, his teachers, his parents, and they were gaining ground fast. He was too slow. As they were upon him, Flash woke up and dared not go back under.
The next thing he knew, Flash was on stage performing with the band. More specifically, however, he was performing backstage behind the band. Adrian and the guys thought it would be cool to keep Flash's identity a secret for a while. This way they could build up the anticipation for when he did appear, and the place would, in Adrian's parlance, fucking explode. At rehearsal, Flash agreed to this without much thought. He was pretty sure they were just yanking his chain.

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