chapter five They ended as they always did, sloppy kisses, hands, nails, everything. Zac, fifteen, too young, too illegal, for her thirst. Another shot, Zac, lips parted, sheen of sweat across his body. New film, shot #5: Zac sleeping. 35 shots left. Fans never get a chance to see the 'real' Hanson she would write on the tour bus in those blissful moments of silence. They pull away from the spotlight, the never ending magnifying glass. The meaning of life is certainly lost on them; they've been so embroiled in their careers. Where will it leave them in five years, ten? This is no ordinary band. They have been transformed from the pixie-ish boys of 1997 to now. No longer can they be called pop-idols. Their music, unadulterated and pure, can't be comprable to the rest of the shit residing on the radio. That's enough; I can't think anymore. It's hellish, having seen them when they were just boys having fun. What are they left with now? Nothing much, to tell the truth. Nothing much at all.

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