Eric punched the buttons on his microwave, a folded piece of paper hanging out of his mouth. As his bowl of instant ramen was being bombarded with radiation, he removed the paper from his lips and read over it again, scribbling down a few notes where he felt it necessary.

"Hmm...I think this song still needs another guitar solo to fill this gap. And if I can repeat the chorus here..." The phone rang, and he picked it up.

"May I speak to Mr. Birer?" the voice on the other end inquired.

"I'm sorry, there's no Beer-er at this residence," Eric replied, duplicating the woman's pronunciation. "Bye."

It was the easiest way to deal with telemarketers.

The microwave beeped, and he walked over to retrieve his dinner. It looked a lot like what he'd had for lunch--not to mention dinner the day before. But ramen was cheap, and Eric was poor, so he wasn't complaining. As he slurped noodles, he gave the sheet of paper one last look-over, and, finding it satisfactory, folded it up again and shoved it into his pocket.

If Aha's comback album wasn't a hit, it certainly wasn't going to be his fault.

Now, if only Oblivion would give him some decent material to work with...he finished up his ramen and put the bowl in the sink, then pulled the sheet of paper out of his pocket and turned it into a paper crane.