Remembering nighttime rides across the Williamsburg Bridge on my way home, the wind biting just a little. Looking up at the pretty city night lights over my head and across the river and in my heart.
When I was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen and twenty, when I was learning how to be who I’d eventually become, I think it was safe to say that I was an idiot. Like the time I destroyed my wheel hitting a curb on the way to see Primus, then rolled the car back in the jack. Then the show sucked.