The safety that was our boring winter afternoon broke into absolutely nothing of substance as Jim and Warren drove down the clean streets of north Krymehaven suburbia. The music on the radio blared lyrics about rage and fear from some dick that I could easily guess had never really felt it. Why we constantly sought out friends that assaulted us with their varying and awful taste in noise was beyond me

“Ugh.” Jim bemoaned the song’s existence the moment the scratchy guitar rang from Warren’s speakers.

“Well at least we’re here now.” Warren assured with a snide smile as he turned into the driveway belonging to Garrett's bandmates.

Eyes rolling, “Chasen off one headache with another, anyway.” Jim groaned, rubbing our temples before turning off the radio mere seconds before Warren’s stopping of the vehicle would have done it for him.

“You’re high, Jim. They sound great.”

“You just wanna get with Gar, anyway.” Jim scowled playfully as he stuck a cigarette between his teeth, patting his pockets in search of his lighter. “Tryna butter up his band cause you can’t afford his prices.”

“Wrong twin, cunt.”

Probably runs in the family, anyway.

-I tossed jeeringly.

Don’t agree with me.

“Sorry, hard to tell you and her apart. Hey you got a lig-” Jim’s question was interrupted by a quickly rising yell--

“Jiiiiiiiiimmyyyy!”

--followed by an even quicker thud against the snow covered lawn.

Fucken’ hell.

Blitz had tackled him. Once again illustrating to me the clear and present danger which she presented to us by merely existing. Between Jim’s stupidity and Blitz’ crazy eyes, which currently stared into our own, we were stuck. Stuck to the ground for the moment, but more importantly stuck to this dropped punchline of a miserable city.

“Hah!” Warren celebrated our misfortune as per usual.

Her blonde ponytail tickled the tip of our nose. It was much longer these days, and framed by blue lightning bolt tattoos on the now shaved sides of her head. She began to stand herself up quickly, pivoting back confidently in Carl’s old, perpetually untied army boots. The tears in her jeans strained against her thin legs as she squatted down to offer to help Jim stand up. He sneezed.

“Gross! JImmy!” whined Blitz as she giggled and stood back up.

“Fuck, sorry.” Jim apologized as he began to stand up.

That’s what you get.

-I cheer happily.

Did you do that?

If I could, you’d know.

Jim squinted in my direction as he walked with the others into the house. We spent a while fucking around aimlessly, just greeting everyone and settling down to eat the Chinese takeout that the band had ordered far too much of, in the garage. We sat in a reclining chair, and Blitz sat in our lap. “You smell like grease.” she bubbled as she rested her forehead onto the side of Jim’s.

“You smell like gunpowder.”

“Holy fuck, you guys saw each other this mornin’.” Warren complained between bites.

Jim and Blitz smiled at each other, and Jim said “To be continued.” with a pat on her thigh.

“Gag me.” Warren said, before taking a sip from a can of cheap beer.

“Is that an invitation?” Garrett offered suddenly, from behind Warren.

Warren choked back a spit take, and swallowed forcefully. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

“You get what you pay for” Garrett returned with a shrug.

Warren clarified “I don't like blokes, either” grinning.

“Never stopped me.” Garrett said before swallowing an egg roll whole, without chewing for a moment, with a blank expression. “How do you guys like the Chinese? I got it from the new place on 6th”

“It’s nice.” Blitz replied with a smile.

“It’s Chinese.” Jim said before feeding himself a bite of stir fried beef with his chopsticks.

“The cats that live around 6th aren’t as good as the ones they use in Old Zhang's downtown” Warren criticized before chugging the rest of his beer.

“You always drink like that before a fight?” Garrett changed the subject.

It was just the one?

“You always deepthroat egg rolls before you sing?” Warren deflected.

“Gig’s not tonight, hermano.”

“Is it ever?” Jim wondered aloud.

“When is your next gig anyways?” Blitz asked before sipping on her Diet Coke.

“Well we have a serious offer in the pipeline.” Garrett informed them.

“Oh that’s good, innit Jim?” Warren replied, with genuine enthusiasm for both Garrett's success and Jim’s suffering.

“That’s awesome!” Blitz celebrated.

“Yeah. Awesome.” Jim said, seeming even less animated than Garrett.

Bones, Garrett’s bandmate whose nickname fit his figure and features with startling accuracy, replied with “ It’s some back alley shit-hole. Smelled like piss. Super fucking metal”.

“No feng shui.” piped Fiddler, a tall, round faced, husky black guy who looked older than his age.

“Drugs! Fights! All kinds of stuff. We’re supposed to perform from a cage!” declared Drummer girl as she pulled her gaudy goggles onto her head.

“At least Garrett has experience performing behind a cage.” Warren chuckled.

“It’s usually more chains and collars than actual cages and dungeons.” Garrett responded, dryly, not even giving the comment the energy of raising his head.

Warren snorted in response. “My apologies, champ. Wouldn’t want to spread lies and slander on your person.” Warren chuckled, before turning back to Drummer Girl. “But yeah, that’s proper fuckin’ metal.” he agreed before returning to chowing down. “Can’t wait.”

“Too bad I can’t make it." Jim finished his food. “Crowd sounds too rough for me.”

You met our mailman, Jim? He carries a nailgun. Your bullshit is obvious without shared experience.

Blitz scoffed, looking up into Jim’s eyes, annoyed. “Okay Jimmy.” She leaned in, to whisper into his ear. “Tell you what, if you go to their concert, like a good friend should do anyway, I’ll…”

He smiled.

I gagged.

“I’ll be there.” Jim barked.

“Jack…?” Blitz started, looking over to the tall lanky teenager who’s new age rich parents foot the bill for this house, for permission.

Always one for conversation, he responded as he did to all things. With a nod, even as his band and housemates protested.

Blitz led Jim into the house and did things that I refuse to give the dignity of description. I stayed behind, in the garage, desperately trying to pretend I wouldn’t be forced to experience it regardless of distance.