Sinatra Paper - Revision :D

Yes, yes. I know, its kinda been a while. But hey! It's done! I ended up leaving the ending pretty much as it was (with the revisions I did make it sounds much better). But I did change the intro a TON! I completely threw away the old one, 'cuz it was rushed, it sucked, and I just plain hated it. Anyway, here's the revision! Enjoy!

Who Actually Tries to be an Ass?
Something Corporate: A band to lead in the “new frontier” of rock called Piano Rock. This band, while it got off to a rough start, led to the creation of a plethora of new styles of song writing and song composure. However, I don’t really care about how they were this or were that. All I care about is they put on fantastic concerts and each is a story just waiting to be told.
Now, if you have been to a concert before you would know that at each concert a different audience goes. And in each crowd there is a specific group of individuals who are more annoying than the rest. But regardless of which concert you go to, and therefore which audience goes, the teenage girls are the most annoying. They have this massive fascination with the lead singer of every band. They scream and swarm, trying to grab whatever they can of him. This singer in particular is Andrew McMahon.
Now, I have never met him but if I were to make any assumptions (based on the music he writes) I would say that he is a stuck-up jerk who sings about how he just wants to hook-up with girls and doesn’t care how they feel about it. More or less he seems like a pretty disrespectful guy. But in between songs it seemed like his whole personality changed. He went from a completely disrespectful guy to someone who I actually wanted to meet. And by the end of the concert I was determined to find out who he really was, and after I did that I was either going to punch him in the gut or fist bump with him. Naturally my friends wanted to get some autographs so we headed backstage before the concert ended (who would try to get backstage after the concert ended! You would have to go through a ton of insane teenage girls!). We snuck behind the rope as the show was ending and went towards the back half of the stage. The first person we spotted was Josh Partington, the lead guitarist. Thinking that this would be the best of our luck my friends raced down the halls trying to catch him. I however, was “simply,” going to find the lead singer, the lead piano player, the one and only Andrew McMahon.
I’m not sure how long I spent trying to find him, but it couldn’t have been any more than a minute. My hearing was slowly improving since I wasn’t standing next to a girl who hopefully lost her voice (she was louder than you can possibly imagine). I thought I heard footsteps. Then I thought I saw a figure. However, the further back I went into the halls the worse the lighting got. My imagination was running wild, was it McMahon? What would I do when I found him – If I found him? Would I end up punching him in the gut or would I cast away my masculinity and ask him for an autograph without further thought like any of the teenage girls in the crowd? I took four more steps. As I approached the figured transformed into a six foot four white man with tattoos on his tattoos. Back stage security. He sprinted at me and slammed me into the wall directly behind me. I heard something crack.
My mind was racing. Shit, was that a rib?
Next thing I knew my feet were off the ground, and I was shaking violently. My mind couldn’t race any longer. I couldn’t concentrate on thinking. The next thing I remember was forcing myself to stand after being dropped. It was a surprisingly nice feeling. I was standing again! Although I was unsure why. Then I witnessed a sight that I never thought would happen. The giant guard was apologizing to me, and then he walked away like nothing happened.
“Hey, you alright?” an oddly familiar voice asked
I responded slowly, “Yeah, I think so.”
“So, why were you back stage anyway?” We made eye contact.
“To be honest, I don’t know anymore. I think I was looking for Andrew McMahon.” My head was throbbing.
“Why?” Although he answered quickly, it seemed genuinely curious.
“I wanted to meet him. In the songs he writes he more or less sounds like an ass. I wanted to see if he was really like that or if that was just how he portrayed himself.” Something in my head clicked. “Wait, aren’t you Andrew McMahon!?”
He nodded. “So which do you think?”
“Can I ask you some questions before I make up my mind?”
“Just don’t make it like an interview, they are no fun.”
“Umm, how do you get your ideas for songs?” If he was the person he sounded like while singing his answer would be noticeable.
“Mostly past experiences, or something I wish I did. I usually don’t try to think to hard for inspiration because then reporters will start tearing apart your life.”
“Simply enough.” He wasn’t making this up. “What was your biggest influence in your life? Did it influence your song writing?” I could see him thinking, he was trying to answer this question to the best of his ability. “Wait; don’t answer if you don’t want to. I do sound like a reporter right now.”
He laughed, “Don’t worry about it, I’d be glad to clear up any doubts my fans have of me… or potential fans at least. The answer to your question wasn’t very hard for me to think about, it was just how to word it. I was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia before one of my concerts a while back, and I had to cancel almost half of Jack’s Mannequin Tour (the other band Andrew McMahon is in).”
“Wow, that sucks!” For some reason his leukemia diagnosis slipped my mind. “How are you now?”
“Well, I’m fine but if I sing too hard or play for excessive periods of time I have to be monitored again because I might have a relapse.” As he was talking I saw my friends in the distance.
I motioned at my friends, “My friends look like they are ready to leave, and I think I should get going. Thanks for talking to me. You’re pretty chill.”
“No problem! I’m glad I got to clear up your questions, I don’t try to look like an ass.”
“No one ever does.” The conversation dissipated as I walked towards my friends. They were all talking about how awesome Josh Partington was, but they didn’t know I got to meet Andrew McMahon. During the car ride home I was unusually quite because I was thinking one thing, I can’t believe I thought he was a jerk.