There was that one time, we felt awkward in high school. You were there, you were probably that cute girl I couldn’t muster the courage to speak to, or maybe you were the dude that was too cool for school, too hip for me. But you felt awkward too. I know you did.
We suffered together, though always in our ways. It wasn’t pleasant, it wasn’t supposed to be. And then we grew up. Or at least I did. And I assume you did too. I went my own way, and went off to school, though school is hardly necessary to the story.
But back when, before we got cool, and were friends. Back then, I used to go to shows. I worked at a record store, you see, and the record labels used to give surly young punks guest passes to the shows. And I took those passes, I went to the shows. By myself.
It was awesome.
I used to look at the older downtown punks, in their leather, with their boys. Staring mean at anyone in their path. When I was 17, they were a very scary 22. When I was 20, I wanted a piece. When I was 22, I was over it. When I was 26, I wrote their story down, we haven’t figured out yet, if anyone wants to publish it.
So here I am, back at the club, by myself, seeing a band I hardly know, but dug. Surrounded by high school kids, too cool for school. How come I was never too cool for school?
At least the music was good.