Stale Beer
The sidewalk shakes as does the building built in the middle of it all
The sweet summer air fills my nostrils
As the sun sets as I'm queued up with every other punk unaware the
Experience about to be taken for granted
The building looks like a burnt match crusting away ready
To blow to bits by a small gust of wind
The room smells of stale beer and body oder so much that it's almost
As if it were intended to be that way
I descend the staircase into a room of roughly 500 people
Roaring the sound of youth and punk rock
Fists fly and so does my body
Atop the crowd like angry ocean
I plummet to the ground face first
My jaw aches and cracks
My tooth pops out my mouth
And onto the floor
And the taste of blood fills my mouth
I have now proved myself
And I join the group of aggression
And I have devoted myself to a lifetime of leather
Writer/s: Connor Scribner