Michelle Branch is Playing a Gig in London and I Thought My 16 Year Old Self Should Know About It

 

ROSS picks up his Magic, Time-Defying Telephone, and dials.

In THE PAST, 16 YEAR OLD ROSS answers. SOME SHITTY, EMBARRASSING TEENAGE MUSIC plays in the background.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: ...hello?

ROSS: Hi, it's me. You. How's 2003 going? 

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: (typically, petulantly) What do you want? Are we rich yet?

ROSS: No. But guess who I'm going to see tonight?

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: Franz Ferdinand?

ROSS: No.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: Travis?

ROSS: No.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: ...Razorlight?

 

This continues for some time, until...

 

ROSS: NO. MICHELLE BRANCH.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: Oh my god! Or, as they've literally only just started saying on the interwebs, OH-EM-GEE. That's exciting! Her new single is, like, the best thing since Sinéad Quinn. Maybe I should go see her too?

ROSS: ...er.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: ...wait. Why are you telling me this? She tours her next album, right?

ROSS: ...sure. 

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: Oh, good. For a minute I thought this was the B*Witched-no-third-album call all over again.

(awkward silence)

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: She releases another album, right?

ROSS: ...yes.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: (suspiciously) When?

ROSS: ...it's due out next month.

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: WHAT?! I have to wait SEVENTEEN YEARS? I'm going to be almost THIRTY?!!

ROSS: If you think about it, that's only a year longer than you've been alive, so...

16 YEAR OLD ROSS: That's supposed to make me feel BETTER? You're literally the WORST! STOP CALLING ME!

16 YEAR OLD ROSS hangs up, melodramatically.

ROSS: (mutters something about the Wreckers, unsatisfactorily)

Exeunt

 
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