"It was a chilly night for the season. Still, none of us wore jackets- not to a show. We made up for the weather with friends we hadn't seen in a while. We exchanged stories between songs. For most of the sets, we were inattentive- nothing new for us; another boring local band leading up to the one we were there to see. The only reason this night is worth remembering has nothing to do with the bands performing, but the crowd. Hardcore kids always make me laugh. As if doing some form of faux-karate in the pit proves that you're a badass. When one of said B.A.'s kicks me in the chest, I shove him to the floor. Little did I know that seconds later six guys- all of whom resembled Steve, the bouncer from Jerry Springer- would be pummeling me from all sides. That's the misconception: These kids are hardcore because they bring a posse and fight dirty. As I swung back, struggling, I notice another pair of fists swinging the same direction I was. Since these "hardcore" kids were intruding on our scene anyway, the bulk of our friends rushed over to break it up right away- even though it was all happening in slow motion and seemed to last forever. Once everyone was pulled apart, I realized that the other fists belonged to Dave- my brother in bruises. We were bleeding and bruised a little, but it all healed. The point is that no one deserves the title "best friend" if they're not willing to bleed next to you and stand by you even if they think you're wrong. Apply that."
Tonight is red and black and I'm feeling green. dm.
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