check your sugarcoat at the door

restoring normality, if ever it was there

In one night I got down with 80s* at a kickass little club near Hometown, saw a punk cover band in a super crappy dive bar, and slowdanced to music that made me cry my eyes out.

What? I’m off my medication right now.

*With a decade’s worth of music, why did I hear Boys Don’t Cry three times?

Irrelevant to music and bars – I feel a lot of things lining up. What has felt like a constant, several year uphill battle against a team that totally outnumbers me and are a bunch of ugly, assholes to boot, kind of feels like a standing chance at making sense and maintaining balance.

Did I say anything right now?

-CJ

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