1979, Thursday, I Think

"There's a road, that keeps on calling me...."

I may never forgive Coombe for wanting to do that song.

I was fourteen when I told my mother to 'Fuck off'. Sorry, mom, I was high. Despite her lightening quick reflexes, I made it past her and out of the house. There was a party going on and I had no intentions of missing it. Come to think of it, I haven't missed a party since. I'm sure that will explain a lot to some of you, but let's talk about it later.
At that time, and at that place, I wasn't about to miss the hours of brutally mangled Neil Young tunes, the smell of stink weed and the allure of older girls who might flash us if we acted cool; like we fit. Maybe things don't always change as much as we think they do, but I'm pretty sure if Lachapelle gave his cat acid today he'd be charged with something. Bachman, Turner Overdrive was blasting out of the back of someone's Chevette and the summer night wasn't getting any cooler. Rudy was there, pencil thin moustache, More cigarette and a Bradore in his hand. He was talking to Bob about music. I walked into the living room and then backed out when I realised everyone in there was a couple. Hand up her shirt, Jim had said, "What the fuck do you want?" 'Christ', I thought, 'you can have that one, Jimmy'.
Nephalim descend, to live among us. They are destined for slaughter. God finds them offensive, apparently. Half human, half angelic, they are cursed from birth. If you think He's forgotten about them, think again. She was dead and didn't know it. I knew it, when I asked her to go for a walk with me. I just wanted her to know what a beautiful night it was, to know that she'd had a chance to see it. I've always been a bit of a romantic.