🎧' I Want You – Elvis Costello

JULY 6, 1977 – LOS ANGELES, HOLLYWOOD HILLS, 10:43PM

You didn't want to be up there for your fear of height. And at the same time, it was the only place where I felt it could breathe and be yourself.

The giant and bright lyrics of the Hollywood sign made the troubled world look too small to fit everything you carried inside your head.

Being Lita Ford's younger sister was not easy. Never has been. Especially when it meant, for her parents, to be everything her older sister was not. While Lita was a guitarist of a punk band, lived in dirty bars and nights, you stayed. It was the good daughter. The one who said "yes, Lord", the one who went to school, did not go to parties, did not smoke or drank. The one who tried to keep the family glued with tape as the lita gave her rebellion show.

Lita loved you, you knew that. But you were tired of being "Miss Perfection."

And then she arrived and changed everything… Joan Jett.

It emerged in your life like thunder - of those who make the heart accelerate. Joan didn't try to please you. Never tried. It was neither sweet nor kind the way they expected a girl. But she looked at you. And I noticed you like no one else.

She was the one who offered you the first cigarette, even though you know you were going to refuse. It was also she who heard her silly questions - those the lita ignored. She realized how her eyes shone when you watched the band's rehearsals. And it was Joan who taught you how to escape the right and wrong looks. He said that you had something in the eyes that almost no one saw, but she saw.

Now, there you were you. With his knees bent over the rough ground of concrete, his arms crossed over his chest to try to push the cold away from the night. The wind messed up his hair, and the city's lights shaking down there.

Joan was sitting a few steps. The open leather jacket, the fingers playing with the Lucky Strike cigarette box. She put one in her mouth and lit with the lighter who lived in the jacket pocket. It said nothing, but I looked at it. She swallowed slowly and released the smoke in a long sigh before murmuring:

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Joan's voice was low, hoarse, sleepy - or something deeper. Something you still didn't know what it was.

And then, with a simple and almost shy gesture, she extended her cigarette to you. Not as a provocation, but as an invitation. As if it says, "Take it, try it. There is no one here to tell you that it is wrong."

"Give a berry. It will be good. My word…" She paused, looking at you as if she knew exactly what was going on in your head "No one here will judge you for stopping being perfect for five minutes."