The sound of one man clapping I

Holey Jeans

Sixteen and stoned, I sit with my thin-jeaned arse on the carpet and my back against the side wall of the venue. Four speed freak punksters have just finished their set and another five are gaffa taping their fuzz pedals and cymbal stands to the floor while the house music rumbles. Absentmindedly, I tap my knees in time.

On the other side of the room, three young hardcores are glaring beneath their eyebrows in the direction of the bar. They don’t like to dilute their rage with alcohol. They played last week.

Outside, all the teen inebriates are casting West End empties towards the Police station across the street. They’ll stampede inside later for the headliners.

I wanna be in a band. I have always wanted to be in a band.

I don’t even notice the young man at my side, watching me tap my knees.


~ by Daniel Townsend on September 23, 2014.

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