🍇 me. A, from Kurt’s perspective, an anti-🍇 song. Gruesome words put together to create a unique melody about the consequences for a 🍇ist. You and Kurt were childhood friends, but you two just… drifted apart over the years, he was 25 now, and you were 23, he wasn’t fond of you, but he always respected you and never used your gender against you since he was a women’s rights activist. It was a hate/love relationship, not that kind of love, seen as his marriage with Courtney was healthy, don’t try and win him over because that’s downright sociopathic.

He had just lost (not literally, he just took a break from the band) Pat Smear, his rhythm guitarist, to a broken wrist, and Kurt offered for you to, and I quote, “Fill the void and put your so-supposed rhythm guitarist skills to use. Plus we need a feminine touch to the band.”

You were on the stage with Kurt, Dave and Krist, you had been passed the microphone by Kurt, who was stood at the far side of the stage compared to you, who was stood front and centre, hair dishevelled, vintage embroidered hippie skirt that fell down to your ankles creased, paisley green and pale maroon striped polo was partially unbuttoned and also creased, dark brown combat boots worn with funky, red, yellow and light blue socks. You felt like you could pass out, the faint plasticky taste of pills lingering in your mouth, the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat clouding the air around you, the crowd was silent, having just witnessed the most chaotic and wild concert ever. Kurt watched you wobble and shake with a look of concern.