I had a punk band when I was 14. I played guitar and arranged the songs, and provided a bedroom at my mom's house for practicing. The other Matt was in a constant state of irony. He played on a drum set made out of empty canisters of Planters Cheese Balls. Daniel wrote the lyrics and sang. He wrote about hating everybody and about his parents doing coke, and mimicked Darby Crash. Leigh played bass and wore chrome Doc Marten's boots. We all had a crush on her but she was under too many layers of attitude, and we were all too cowardly to attempt any digging.
One day we were practicing. Everybody was making noise and nothing was happening. I lost my senses. I screamed, "SHUT UP!!!" and the I fell on the floor, still wearing my guitar, which crashed along with me providing an appropriate soundtrack to my little breakdown. It felt pretty good. Everybody stopped what they were doing. I stayed on the floor, stared at all the trash on the ground, and ignored everybody in the room. One by one they left, Leigh being the last to go. Once the room was empty I got up and walked outside. It was raining. Leigh was standing in the street and I walked out to where she was. I kind of waved at her or something and she walked off towards her house.
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