Teenage Riot
Hey Ho lets go!
Rio's POV
" Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go"
I love the sense of liberty that the streets provide, I've always had. Even when freedom means " Free to starv and die" Its a freedom very few understand. Its some sort of rebellion towards yourself. The streets are a scene, each step means a dot more to this city. New York.
I love New York. The first time I crossed that bridge, shit that was it. I knew I was never going back, the sweet Bronx . Ha ha what a home , right? I was the one white kid in the block, probably the street. I never had a problem with it, other guys did though. Never more than a couple of bruises, and a stabed pride, atleast it prepared me for the next years.
I hated the barrio, the zone, the street, the house, the backyard. I hated everything up there. Except one thing: the stadium, seems so silly now. But back then...
"They're forming in straight line
They're going through a tight wind"
That stadium was the first memory I have, and It was also the last sight of the Bronx to me.
"Hey Ho Lets Go!! Hey Ho Lets Go!!" I leant to the steel column of those black stairs, directing to the subway station. I would go and hang around that corner almost always. You could hear the shouts of joy or dissapointment scratching the air from behind those walls. The stadio was always open, no matter the team was not playing. I guess some fans just felt it to be like their personal Utopia. Thats right support the team under the rain, drunk fuckers. I was never a fan though, I can't recall anything I was a a fan of, but there were many bars around, and that song...
Now I can laugh to myself but back then, I had no clue who sang it. I had no clue why they would only play some lines instead of the whole song as they did with others. But I liked it, I remembered the rhytim it was from The City.
"The kids are losing their minds
The Blitzkrieg Bop"
I was sick of it all, the dirty sheets I laid on everynight. The futton on the living room, stained of cum, Cum of all the bloody bastards that passed by, through my mother and my sister. And their cheap vodka breath, whenever she would say "You've better been at work all day long"
"Where is dinner MOMMY?"I would answer to her hatred face. I wont ever forget that despite towards her blood red lips, and her smell of cheap booze and sex.
She smelled like sex, she always did, ever since I was 12 The first time I went into my room, with my school bag and my ripped clothes. Just to find her with some fucker, screwing her up the ass in my bed. She moaning and begging like a hooker, pressing herself close to him, in my sheets. The condom pack laying cynically in my night stand. His naked ass facing me, hairy legs and the cum was all over my sheets. All over the place, sticky gross thing.
The curtains open so they could see their reflection in the window crystal, cheap whore.
"What are you looking at??"
Snapped on my face, her booze breath and her odor, of sex...
"They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat"
Then the pavement, the cracked side walk, the dieing bushes, the bum. I ran the fuck away, I ran through all those streets, squares and squares. Young little kid running to the one good place of town, a baseball stadium.
A 12 year kid leant against the thick walls of the stadium, smashing his fists against the cement, over and over until my hands ached in red heatburn. I stared at the streeet for hours, a mass of people with baseball caps and tshirts, came from around the square. talking entusiastically of the game. Climbing up black metal stairs towards the station.
"The Blitzkrieg Bop
Hey ho, let's go
Shoot'em in the back now
What they want, I don't know
They're all reved up and ready to go"
From that night on, I just got used to it, mother sneaking around the kitchen closet with some young guy, never more than 18, I can asure. Then her shadow, infront of the old tv with a bottle of vodka in her lap, and tears down her eyebags. Four years of mom and her sex-booze rutine teached well my sister, and she become a great slut. Three years older than me, well 2 and a half. Still she was the bright one got a schoolarship in some Boston University probably fucking the interviewer. I used to mock of how she could pass by Hardvard and say "hy" to a place she would never belong to.
I however had had enough when I got to my 17 birthday. I just didn't knew so.
"They're forming in straight line
They're going through a tight wind
The kids are losing their minds"
Until I opened my bedroom door after a 9 to 5 shift and a strike of coke through my nose. The door handkerchief had broke appart a few years before, the lock had no use anymore. I slamed the door to the wall, and the scene takes em back 4 years to the past. There she was mother panting on my bed, but this time she is on top, pleasing the jerk, their bodies turned facing the door, as if expecting my arrival. Naked, tits face me, and the room it held the must disgusting odor mixture of cheap booze and sex, not any kind off sex, no the kind off sex that any human goes around having. A kind of sex that can only be done with the intention to fuck up the watcher. A sex that could only mean the most sad, gross, need of despair.
Thats when she looked at me, straight in the eyes, and she bowed her face down.
"The Blitzkrieg Bop
They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat"
"Coward" My voice had never been so bloody cold man. Only in that circumstances you can sound so inpersonal, like such a stranger. I owned nothing with any emotional value to me, years of nothing. I took a step back and closed the door, just turned around. I walked out of the house, no yelling, no chasing. I wonder If she realised at the moment, that she would never see me again. Maybe she did, but I walked out of the place as if nothing had ever occured. I felt something different, no needs, no intentions, no direction home.
The freedom of the street.
"The Blitzkrieg Bop"
My feet took me back to the stadium funny how instinct works ain't it?
I found myself standing in the same piece of cement, watching the fans going up the steel stairs, as the roar of the subway shook the surroundings. What could I really loose?
"Hey ho, let's go Shoot'em in the back now
What they want, I don't know
They're all reved up and ready to go
They're forming in straight line"
Climbed through the last piece of the Bronx I would ever feel. Running throught he mass pushing everyone aside, opening my way towards New York, jumping over the ticket machine.
"Hey Stop him!!" A male voice echoed through, and soon enough 4 guys chase after me, and I wasnt gonna give it up, but they were reaching me. I mean there are few meters between the train and the ticket machines, and I was not gonna make it.
"They're going through a tight wind
The kids are losing their minds
The Blitzkrieg Bop"
A white skinny hand grabs my arm and I'm in sprawled across the floor on top of someone but I'm in. Just a second before the doors close up to the security guards, and the train speeds in, leaving the station into confusion.
I turn around face the one who helped me, and I can't help to smile at his hair, orange, spiked, short hair. He is leaning on his elbows half sit, since I'm over him. He looks up right into my face and I can see him grin at me, his black eyes are so wild he looks so so real.
"You mind getting up?" A deep intense voice and an strange accent, I shrug realising we are in a very compromising position and clumsily attempt to stand. just managing to slide down the door and end up sitting infront of him.
He just smiles at me, thin lips and the black eyes. He stretches out into a more comfortable position, crawling to my side leaning his back to the door.
"Johnny"He says handing me a ciggarette, I don't smoke but I take it without a second thought, staring at him.
"Rio" He brushes a match throught the floor and lights his own, throwing away the useless burnt match. He inhales once and takes the ciggarrette out of his mouth before pressing it to the one I'm holding.
"Hitting New York are you?" before I can answer the train violently stick into the next reel, I look around slightly surprised.
"Relax just the bridge" He sucks his ciggar, as the lights appear through the windows and the reflection of the bronx gets lost behind him.
"They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat"
That was my last sight of the Bronx disappearing behind Johnny. Its a good memory of the Bronx, the best one I ever had. I'm never going back New York and its streets, are my home now, and there is these freedom in the air that tells me there is no next stop.
The Blitzkrieg Bop
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go"
" Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go"
I love the sense of liberty that the streets provide, I've always had. Even when freedom means " Free to starv and die" Its a freedom very few understand. Its some sort of rebellion towards yourself. The streets are a scene, each step means a dot more to this city. New York.
I love New York. The first time I crossed that bridge, shit that was it. I knew I was never going back, the sweet Bronx . Ha ha what a home , right? I was the one white kid in the block, probably the street. I never had a problem with it, other guys did though. Never more than a couple of bruises, and a stabed pride, atleast it prepared me for the next years.
I hated the barrio, the zone, the street, the house, the backyard. I hated everything up there. Except one thing: the stadium, seems so silly now. But back then...
"They're forming in straight line
They're going through a tight wind"
That stadium was the first memory I have, and It was also the last sight of the Bronx to me.
"Hey Ho Lets Go!! Hey Ho Lets Go!!" I leant to the steel column of those black stairs, directing to the subway station. I would go and hang around that corner almost always. You could hear the shouts of joy or dissapointment scratching the air from behind those walls. The stadio was always open, no matter the team was not playing. I guess some fans just felt it to be like their personal Utopia. Thats right support the team under the rain, drunk fuckers. I was never a fan though, I can't recall anything I was a a fan of, but there were many bars around, and that song...
Now I can laugh to myself but back then, I had no clue who sang it. I had no clue why they would only play some lines instead of the whole song as they did with others. But I liked it, I remembered the rhytim it was from The City.
"The kids are losing their minds
The Blitzkrieg Bop"
I was sick of it all, the dirty sheets I laid on everynight. The futton on the living room, stained of cum, Cum of all the bloody bastards that passed by, through my mother and my sister. And their cheap vodka breath, whenever she would say "You've better been at work all day long"
"Where is dinner MOMMY?"I would answer to her hatred face. I wont ever forget that despite towards her blood red lips, and her smell of cheap booze and sex.
She smelled like sex, she always did, ever since I was 12 The first time I went into my room, with my school bag and my ripped clothes. Just to find her with some fucker, screwing her up the ass in my bed. She moaning and begging like a hooker, pressing herself close to him, in my sheets. The condom pack laying cynically in my night stand. His naked ass facing me, hairy legs and the cum was all over my sheets. All over the place, sticky gross thing.
The curtains open so they could see their reflection in the window crystal, cheap whore.
"What are you looking at??"
Snapped on my face, her booze breath and her odor, of sex...
"They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat"
Then the pavement, the cracked side walk, the dieing bushes, the bum. I ran the fuck away, I ran through all those streets, squares and squares. Young little kid running to the one good place of town, a baseball stadium.
A 12 year kid leant against the thick walls of the stadium, smashing his fists against the cement, over and over until my hands ached in red heatburn. I stared at the streeet for hours, a mass of people with baseball caps and tshirts, came from around the square. talking entusiastically of the game. Climbing up black metal stairs towards the station.
"The Blitzkrieg Bop
Hey ho, let's go
Shoot'em in the back now
What they want, I don't know
They're all reved up and ready to go"
From that night on, I just got used to it, mother sneaking around the kitchen closet with some young guy, never more than 18, I can asure. Then her shadow, infront of the old tv with a bottle of vodka in her lap, and tears down her eyebags. Four years of mom and her sex-booze rutine teached well my sister, and she become a great slut. Three years older than me, well 2 and a half. Still she was the bright one got a schoolarship in some Boston University probably fucking the interviewer. I used to mock of how she could pass by Hardvard and say "hy" to a place she would never belong to.
I however had had enough when I got to my 17 birthday. I just didn't knew so.
"They're forming in straight line
They're going through a tight wind
The kids are losing their minds"
Until I opened my bedroom door after a 9 to 5 shift and a strike of coke through my nose. The door handkerchief had broke appart a few years before, the lock had no use anymore. I slamed the door to the wall, and the scene takes em back 4 years to the past. There she was mother panting on my bed, but this time she is on top, pleasing the jerk, their bodies turned facing the door, as if expecting my arrival. Naked, tits face me, and the room it held the must disgusting odor mixture of cheap booze and sex, not any kind off sex, no the kind off sex that any human goes around having. A kind of sex that can only be done with the intention to fuck up the watcher. A sex that could only mean the most sad, gross, need of despair.
Thats when she looked at me, straight in the eyes, and she bowed her face down.
"The Blitzkrieg Bop
They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat"
"Coward" My voice had never been so bloody cold man. Only in that circumstances you can sound so inpersonal, like such a stranger. I owned nothing with any emotional value to me, years of nothing. I took a step back and closed the door, just turned around. I walked out of the house, no yelling, no chasing. I wonder If she realised at the moment, that she would never see me again. Maybe she did, but I walked out of the place as if nothing had ever occured. I felt something different, no needs, no intentions, no direction home.
The freedom of the street.
"The Blitzkrieg Bop"
My feet took me back to the stadium funny how instinct works ain't it?
I found myself standing in the same piece of cement, watching the fans going up the steel stairs, as the roar of the subway shook the surroundings. What could I really loose?
"Hey ho, let's go Shoot'em in the back now
What they want, I don't know
They're all reved up and ready to go
They're forming in straight line"
Climbed through the last piece of the Bronx I would ever feel. Running throught he mass pushing everyone aside, opening my way towards New York, jumping over the ticket machine.
"Hey Stop him!!" A male voice echoed through, and soon enough 4 guys chase after me, and I wasnt gonna give it up, but they were reaching me. I mean there are few meters between the train and the ticket machines, and I was not gonna make it.
"They're going through a tight wind
The kids are losing their minds
The Blitzkrieg Bop"
A white skinny hand grabs my arm and I'm in sprawled across the floor on top of someone but I'm in. Just a second before the doors close up to the security guards, and the train speeds in, leaving the station into confusion.
I turn around face the one who helped me, and I can't help to smile at his hair, orange, spiked, short hair. He is leaning on his elbows half sit, since I'm over him. He looks up right into my face and I can see him grin at me, his black eyes are so wild he looks so so real.
"You mind getting up?" A deep intense voice and an strange accent, I shrug realising we are in a very compromising position and clumsily attempt to stand. just managing to slide down the door and end up sitting infront of him.
He just smiles at me, thin lips and the black eyes. He stretches out into a more comfortable position, crawling to my side leaning his back to the door.
"Johnny"He says handing me a ciggarette, I don't smoke but I take it without a second thought, staring at him.
"Rio" He brushes a match throught the floor and lights his own, throwing away the useless burnt match. He inhales once and takes the ciggarrette out of his mouth before pressing it to the one I'm holding.
"Hitting New York are you?" before I can answer the train violently stick into the next reel, I look around slightly surprised.
"Relax just the bridge" He sucks his ciggar, as the lights appear through the windows and the reflection of the bronx gets lost behind him.
"They're piling in the back seat
They're generating steam heat
Pulsating to the back beat"
That was my last sight of the Bronx disappearing behind Johnny. Its a good memory of the Bronx, the best one I ever had. I'm never going back New York and its streets, are my home now, and there is these freedom in the air that tells me there is no next stop.
The Blitzkrieg Bop
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go
Hey ho, let's go Hey ho, let's go"