Apartment Punks, by Dominick

After an exhausting and unforgettable show featuring Upsilon Acrux, Sleeping People, Yip Yip, and The Locust one night at the now-closed venue of the Showcase Theatre in Corona, a nagging, punkish girl with a slightly more disheveled-than-most look came up to me and asked "Do you think you can give me and my friends a ride home tonight" I glanced at my cell phone, it read 12:00 am in stagnant, green LED numerals.


I had the inkling that her kin were the grungy folks sitting outside the venue before the show started, yelping "hey you got any money so we can get in the show? We like the same bands you like!"


I really did not take a liking to their whole shitch, but I respect them as the bare-bones idealists that they were. Obviously, they were dirt poor, and I wasn't the least bit surprised to hear them harp about hitching on trains, "spenging" ( a concept that will be touched on later), and other facets of a life that prioritizes little more than catching the latest 80's anarcho band (past their prime) playing at the local venue thats about to get closed due to fire safety issues; a life that places no higher value than adhering to a strict vegan diet (though I'm sure they sneak the occasional rat or two) and wearing all black with an oversized Conflict patches on your spectacularly tattered jacket. Overgrown kids hiding from their mommies and daddies and as a result obtaining bad dental hygenie. You have to give them credit though--not many people are willing to display their gods in such a fashion, or even in their own fashion (sense). My Lord my writing style is annoying tonight.



Now me being a pansy subruban youth in comparison, and at this point in my life awkward also, decided to consult my friend in the matter. I had to leave the starry eyed girl in the parking lot in suspense. We both decided it was a bad idea to extend past my curfew too much since I was on bad terms with my dad. We also both decided that we should check out any signs that these people might mean trouble, and what we could discern about them from their appearance. Other factors that we had to deal with was whether they would all fit in my car, and other technicalities. Both of us being ruthless over-analyzers finally gave up our game and decided to just take them. They seemed friendly enough.


I make my way back over to where they are stationed at. THe whole lot of them is now gathered. "Lets go" I said. They were surprised in their pre-destined manner. Manor. One of them had a large black bag which contained all of his possesions--think of it like a "punk" version of a bindle. Strapless, pocketless, just a black piece of cloth rolled up into a cylinder like a can of string beans. Black beans would more accurate actually. Like a can of black beans.