"So you're a fan of the fact that it's just one guy," Mike says softly, stopping just so the waitress could bring him tea and remind him that she's paying for it until tomorrow. Mark claps his hand in a prayer gesture in thanks before his gaze turns back on Billy.

Not quite as skittish. Not exactly bold, either. Maybe this was a good conversation for them to have? Mark was dying to know about his accent, but it was New York City. There were chances he wasn't a tourist that just strayed off the path and wound up dangerously close to the slums.

"I don't know what to think," He says honestly. "It's either one guy who's completely sequestered himself and is therefore way more pretentious than his music is and therefore a corporate cash-cow sellout, or it's one monkey dancing for Virgin Records, bending over to get fu--I'm sorry, it's been a day." Apparently graphic imagery seems to spew out of his mouth when he's angry.

At least Maureen isn't here to rub salt in the wound.

"You should be glad you don't follow CHAOS. Everyone's obsessed, no one's immune. It's like a fever you can't sweat out. Who do you like, then? If it's not CHAOS."

Guess who dodged the weird subject line? Mark Cohen.