Happenings.
The other side.
I did go over to his house that day. I was a little nervous about it, but I went. His house was about five blocks away from school, except in the opposite direction. It was smallish and painted bright yellow. We went in, looked around. His parents weren't at home.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "Let's go up."
His room was a complete mess. You literally couldn't walk without stepping on something, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Come on." He stepped across to his bed, ignoring the crunching noises from underneath his feet.
"You're not worried about your stuff?"
"Nah. If it's been there that long, it doesn't matter."
I tiptoed over to the bench, wincing. He snickered. I glared at him half seriously, and I sat down next to him. But then I saw something intriguing, and walked off the bed to the other half of the room.
In a corner was a patch of floor completely clear of anything and a shelf that was entirely filled up, but everything on the shelf was in perfect order. I looked closer. It was his CDs. But this wasn't a typical set of CDs, this was a real collection. CDs, EPs, vinyls of all sorts, all of them fitted perfectly onto this shelf. I looked casually through the names that stood out, and wasn't too surprised. Sex Pistols, Queen, Misfits, Joy Division, Depeche Mode, nothing seemed to be of current bands. David Bowie, Bauhaus, AFI?
"AFI? Aren't they that band with the Miss Murder song that's always on the radio?"
"Yeah. I need someone who puts out a new CD sometimes, and who plays around here, so I have a concert to go to. And the singer, Davey Havok, has nearly the same taste in music as I do. Plus, he's damn hot."
I guess I looked him strangely.
"Shit, right. You're different, so I guess I forgot that you probably like girls."
"No, I don't. And I'm not that surprised, but the way you said it like that was kind of... Uh. Surprising."
"Nice phrasing there."
I glared. He laughed. "Here." He walked over to something a little left of where I stood. Whatever it was, it looked like a cross between a greeting card stand and a mountain of clothes hangers. It probably was, and he'd probably made it himself, judging by everything else lying around his room. Well, it turned out that the thing held posters. He turned it for a minute, shuffled some posters around, and moved back.
"This," he said, "is Davey Havok."
This had to be the girliest looking guy I'd ever seen, but somehow he managed to pull it off. Not exactly my kind of thing, though, and I said so.
"Well... Ehh, forget it. I'm not gonna try and convert you. But I am going to try and get you to like AFI, and I will not hesitate to drag you to a concert, if they end up here. You have been warned."
"Okay."
"And you're taking The Art of Drowning home with you, but you mess it up at all, I'm chaining you in my room for a week and doing with you whatever I please."
"Art of Drowning?"
"AFI CD. You know most of these other bands, don't you? I hope so, I'd rather not have to lend you all of my CDs."
"Yeah."
"Good."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "Let's go up."
His room was a complete mess. You literally couldn't walk without stepping on something, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Come on." He stepped across to his bed, ignoring the crunching noises from underneath his feet.
"You're not worried about your stuff?"
"Nah. If it's been there that long, it doesn't matter."
I tiptoed over to the bench, wincing. He snickered. I glared at him half seriously, and I sat down next to him. But then I saw something intriguing, and walked off the bed to the other half of the room.
In a corner was a patch of floor completely clear of anything and a shelf that was entirely filled up, but everything on the shelf was in perfect order. I looked closer. It was his CDs. But this wasn't a typical set of CDs, this was a real collection. CDs, EPs, vinyls of all sorts, all of them fitted perfectly onto this shelf. I looked casually through the names that stood out, and wasn't too surprised. Sex Pistols, Queen, Misfits, Joy Division, Depeche Mode, nothing seemed to be of current bands. David Bowie, Bauhaus, AFI?
"AFI? Aren't they that band with the Miss Murder song that's always on the radio?"
"Yeah. I need someone who puts out a new CD sometimes, and who plays around here, so I have a concert to go to. And the singer, Davey Havok, has nearly the same taste in music as I do. Plus, he's damn hot."
I guess I looked him strangely.
"Shit, right. You're different, so I guess I forgot that you probably like girls."
"No, I don't. And I'm not that surprised, but the way you said it like that was kind of... Uh. Surprising."
"Nice phrasing there."
I glared. He laughed. "Here." He walked over to something a little left of where I stood. Whatever it was, it looked like a cross between a greeting card stand and a mountain of clothes hangers. It probably was, and he'd probably made it himself, judging by everything else lying around his room. Well, it turned out that the thing held posters. He turned it for a minute, shuffled some posters around, and moved back.
"This," he said, "is Davey Havok."
This had to be the girliest looking guy I'd ever seen, but somehow he managed to pull it off. Not exactly my kind of thing, though, and I said so.
"Well... Ehh, forget it. I'm not gonna try and convert you. But I am going to try and get you to like AFI, and I will not hesitate to drag you to a concert, if they end up here. You have been warned."
"Okay."
"And you're taking The Art of Drowning home with you, but you mess it up at all, I'm chaining you in my room for a week and doing with you whatever I please."
"Art of Drowning?"
"AFI CD. You know most of these other bands, don't you? I hope so, I'd rather not have to lend you all of my CDs."
"Yeah."
"Good."