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He forgot about the beer in his hand. He forgot that he needed to go check the frayed leads on his own guitar before he went on. He forgot about the exam on Tuesday he hadn’t studied for and the show flyers he needed to photocopy at work the next day and all of fucking Jersey.
In that moment, though drunk and sloppy and barely intelligible through the awful mix, Frank knew he was watching the birth of an immortal.
Frank agrees to help find Mikey Way's new band its first show.
(Pre-Bullets to post-Summer Sonic '04.)