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You've graduated high school early by attending summer school for two years. One of your closest friends has just hanged herself at age 18, and you've had to face your own mortality for the first time. You are in a hot-tub with three of your best friends, finishing off the dregs of a $10,000 wine collection you've broken into and chugged like Thunderbird. It's four hours after the house party is techically over, but you all know this is the end. The sky is becomming brighter. The water is black with spilled wine and god knows what else, because you've all been in it for over three hours. You pass the bottles around, and occasionally they slip beneath the water, mixing with the brine. With your friends. You don't care. You are the brightest, most original minds in your school, despite your grades. You're smarter than your teachers, and their awareness of that has made your last three years somewhat challenging, but worth every minute. And you regret nothing.
You're listening exclusively to mixed tapes of punk, new wave, industrial, and avant garge music, because it's 1984, and you don't "do" rock 'n' roll.
John Cage. Psychic TV. Laurie Anderson. Black Flag. Psychedelic Furs. William Burroughs. Jim Thirlwell. Police. Dayglo Abortions. Animal Things. Flying Lizards. Dead Kennedys. The Clash. Bauhaus.
But then, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here", and you're all 13 again, playing D&D and talking about how you can't imagine ever being anywhere than where you are at that moment.
And you'll never be there again. And you'll never be here again. And it's very, very good.
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