Where Eagles Dare

The punk rock scene in this town’s just like anywhere else, I guess — all the misfits, stoners, and street punks are welcome. Hell, even the metal kids and Goths get a by, just so long as they keep to themselves at the shows. Everyone belongs, by mere virtue of the fact that they don’t. But at Johnny Two-Bad’s side, you were the elite. We were Dukes in a kingdom of thieves.

At least it felt that way to me. I hadn’t been here so long, but they’d all been pretty welcoming. Back home — back in what used to be home — there was a real connection between us all. Everyone in the scene had grown up together, knew each other since we were kids; hell, even our parents knew each other. Everyone had that bond, that personal connection. That shared history. We were like a family; born into it, bonded by blood, whether we liked it or not. But no matter what, we couldn’t shake that connection.

Here, it was different. Like some feudal caste system. A bunch of peasants with nothing in common but an urge to hear it raw, hear it louder, get it faster. These people came together because there’s strength in numbers. All those working class punk rock union hymns made a lot more sense here. You look out for each other, not because you care, not because you want to, but because together, you form a bigger monster, one with a mohawk and pins and Chucks on its feet, one that looks out for and protects its own. Without the ones who made it up, who built it in the first place, the monster couldn’t live. It wouldn’t exist. I guess it’s more a cyclical relationship of necessity in this town — we need the monster ’cause the monster needs us.

And Johnny Two-Bad, he formed the head of that monster. Or at least a part of it. So when he kept you as part of his crew, you knew it meant something. And it’s much better than being a part of that monster’s foot, like when you first roll into town, its dense mass bearing down on you, forcing you into the dirt. But you still gotta support it, no matter how hard or heavy it gets. Then the rest of the kids in that monster’s foot will help you carry it. It’s either that, or you get crushed beneath the weight.

One response to “Where Eagles Dare

  1. Pingback: Last Caress | thom dunn

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