Standing in the crowd waiting for Hightower to start, I felt like it was 1984 all over again. One guy was wearing a "Nazi punks fuck off" arm band. Another guy had painted JFA on the back of his jeans jacket. I just sighed.

By the end of the night I had a chestful of SPB stickers and the idea that I was some kind of Hot Betty, a feeling probably helped along by all the booze that they were drinking and all the Vicodin that I was downing. At any rate, I felt good. Like a woman. "You're cute," I said to the guy with the handlebar moustache. He was my favorite. He reminded me of someone who should be piloting a hot air balloon whilst listening to UFO.

Once I was safely ensconced in bed later, my only company the newly adopted cotton ball of destruction, I fell into a deep sleep. I can't fully remember, but I think I dreamt of bunnies and kittens and lil' baby chicks. Oh, and getting it three ways in Thee Parkside's bathroom with a skater dude. But I can't be sure.

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