"Dear Ana,
            I myself have never won a lottery either..."

     Sunday August 15th was looking pretty bleak. Worse than that it felt like the end was near.
      "I'VE LOST FUCKING EVERYTHING!"
     I was a sobbing, erratic mess as I sat on the shrinkwrap counter in the shipping department. Crying-- I was so sick of crying. It seemed like I was no longer capable of doing anything else.
     "Hey, you haven't lost everything," Kristin tried to assure. Both her and Neil had found me in this awful state and were determined to stick it out with me until my eyes had dried.
     "Everything!"
     I was throwing a pretty good fit. They were in for the long haul.
     "I have lost my marriage, my boyfriend, my car and I had to spend the money for Reading on my medical bills and the accident...the reimbursement check hasn't hit my bank account yet. I don't have money for a plane ticket and my festival ticket hasn't even come in the mail yet... I've lost everything and this Libertines thing--London-- I'm losing that, too... and honest to God, I feel like this is the only thing that has kept me going--given me hope and something to look forward to. I don't know how I'm going to feel if I'm sitting here on August 28th..."
     "You'll be fine," Neil leaned in, "But we're going to get you there. I have forty dollars for you once we get paid and we'll find a way."
     "You'll find other things to have hope in,"Kristin said, "You'll give yourself other things to have hope in. You have you and that's everything."
     I felt like nothing.
     And Monday August 16th was looking even worse.
     The money hadn't hit my bank account, I had no plane ticket, my festival ticket hadn't come in the mail and the word had come down from Ticketmaster that I hadn't won their ballot lottery to even qualify to purchase a ticket to the warm up gig at the Forum on Wednesday August 24th.
     My grandmother had recently told me,
     "You'll be on that plane-- even if we have to chase it down the runway."
     Somehow this didn't seem to matter because even if I had chased a plane down the runway it didn't mean that The Libertines were going to be on the other end of it.
     Then a funny kind of shift happened.
     Neil walked into my department, pulled $20 from his blazer pocket and handed it to me,
     "I'll get you another $20 at the end of the week-- and I'm going to email an old friend who used to tour with The Libertines to try to get you into the Forum."
     Shortly after this a customer (and friend) came in and gave me a check for $30.
     A few hours later Glen went online to see if he could track down my festival ticket.
     It occurred to me --all of these people still thought that I could do this...more importantly was that they still believed that I was going to.
     That made Tuesday August 17th look better.
     The reimbursement check for the car accident cleared the bank.
     When Neil heard the news he lifted me from the ground and told me he didn't want me to do anymore crying.
     "I'm going to buy the plane ticket to get me there the day of the Forum gig," I told him, "I'll go straight there from the airport. I don't care if I have to wait outside all day. Eventually someone will show up who can help me get in. If I scream loud enough, someone will hear me."
     By the end of the day I had purchased a plane ticket that would have me in London by 1pm on Wednesday August 25th.
     Wednesday August 18th brought with it both good and bad news.
     The good news was that I had confirmation for my plane ticket so no matter what I knew I would be in London the following week, also, I had received an email from the ticket company stating that my Reading Festival ticket would be available at will call.
     I had my plane ticket, my passport and my ticket to Reading. It was everything that I needed-- almost.
     The bad news was that Neil's friend couldn't help me get into the Forum.
     "Find out who their management is and their contact information," David told me, "If you can get that; I'll call them for you."
     Turns out I couldn't get that but that I had found a sort of way to get a hold of Roger Sargent--maybe.
     I texted this to Dave, his reply came back,
     "I don't expect Roger can help-- keep trying, you've nothing to lose."
     Friday August 20th started out with a hangover. Andrew, Sergio and Gabor had taken me out the night before and gotten me drunk on Mai Tais.
     As I stumbled into work in WayFarers, nursing a sour stomach, I could recall a certain part of the evening quite vividly (besides quoting Afghan Whigs' 'Gentlemen' album lyric for lyric).
     Andrew and I were slouched down over the bar and he said to me,
     "I can't believe that you're going to London. I'll be honest, for awhile there I didn't think you were going to pull it off."
     "But you donated money to me."
     "I figured we'd use that to go drinking if you couldn't go."
     "I'll be honest with you... up until Monday I didn't think I could pull it off. I won't believe it until I'm on that plane."
     "You're going," Andrew said, "Make sure you come back, The Ana."
     Friday afternoon, as the hangover subsided, my brain started to work at full capacity. David might have thought that maybe Roger couldn't help me but someone out there had to be able to. I had no reason not to try everything.
     Carl had been unresponsive but this was not "The Carl Barât Show." Would I cross the Atlantic for a Dirty Pretty Things reunion? No! Would I endure a plague ridden festival for Babyshambles? Not a chance! Was I going to Denmark to see Yeti? It's not even a question.
     But this-- this was The Libertines...and there were more Libertines than Carl-- I just had to try to get a hold of them.
     Roger Sargent, to me, is as much a Libertine as Pete, Carl, John or Gary. He is the reason that I first took an interest in The Libertines and for someone like myself who had never seen the Libertines play, his photographs and his perspective of this band were all that I visually had of them. So in some ways, his view of them had become my own.
     In other words, I felt extreme gratitude towards him and nerve wracked at the prospect of not only contacting him but making my first interaction one in which I required a favor.
     Especially because unlike Carl, Roger hadn't exactly handed me his email address. I kind of had to sleuth the internet to find a possible means of communique. 
     Under the subject heading: 'Libertines at The Forum (Please read this! Please!)
     I typed up my plea as briefly as possible as well as included a link to the blog so that he could read about the adventure that I was on thus far.
     I didn't have time to second guess myself, I hit send and hoped for the best.
     Next I hit up the Facebook fan pages for both Peter Doherty and Carl Barât. I posted a link to my blog there and commented on my desperation to get into the Forum gig.
     Finally, as an absolute last resort, I emailed Carl once more. I apologized for my persistence, I told him I hadn't won the Ticketmaster lottery and though I was certain he was being bombarded with this question-- could he get me into the Forum?
     I felt terrible for asking, guilty even. I wasn't owed anything but I had wanted to be there to see this more than anything.
     Within hours a response came back from Roger. He wanted to know when I was flying in. He might be able to get me into a secret show on Tuesday August 24th. This was the best and worst thing that could have happened. Roger Sargent had written me back, he could maybe get me into a secret show (it was just like those boys to do a thing like this) but I wouldn't even get in until the 25th.
     I called the airline to see if I could change my ticket. In order to get a flight that would leave in time to get me there and cancel my old ticket it would've cost more that $1000 on top of what I had already paid.
     Broken hearted, I wrote Roger back and thanked him but I couldn't make it. If a miracle came through for me I would let him know (and p.s. I got a message from Roger Sargent! Too cool!)
     Saturday August 21st I got to work and checked my email. In my inbox were two unread messages:
     One was from Roger and the other was from Carl Barât.
     I read the email from Roger first. In it he said that he would do his best to get me on the list for the 25th and if I could, would I remind him again on Monday. He ended it by saying, "Fingers crossed!"
     I smiled. I laughed. It was like relief. In this there was hope. I had taken a chance. I had screamed and I had been heard.
     I paced the floor for a moment before I opened Carl's email. I didn't know what he would say and I didn't know what to expect.
     I reasoned with myself that the worst thing that he could say was no he wouldn't help (in reality, the worst thing that he could have said was "Please stop harassing me. I'm having you black listed from the shows.") but at this point even a no was better than the previous months of silence.
     I clicked on it.
     "Dear Ana,
           I myself have never won a lottery either..."
     I read and re-read the whole email three, maybe, four times before my eyes would focus on the last line of it and I could grasp what he was saying to me.
     I ran across the parking lot to show Kristin. I called Neil. I texted...everyone. I printed out a hard copy of it and taped it to the time clock so all the kids I worked with could read it as they were coming in. At the end of the day, I took the hard copy down from the time clock, folded it in half and stuck it in my totebag.
     When I got home that night, I went into my bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the paper from my bag. I unfolded it and read the last line once again.
     Even though Neil told me he didn't want me to do it anymore; I couldn't help myself--
     I cried.
     "...I shall ensure that your name is on the guest list on Wednesday. Much love and courage on your journey.
      Yours Truly
       Carl.x"