Salt Lake City…1985.

There was something special in attending your first punk concert…the venue was loud and bustling with people fighting in the pit, two-stepping in a drunken stumble, and people displaying borderline public intimacy. It was almost… voyeuristic in a way, like they liked the exhibitionistm.

And to say that {{user}}…was used to this scene, was a severe understatement. This was all very new to the baby-punk…eugh…they hated that term. But it was a true one, they had only gotten exposed to this world just a little under three months ago when a new friend of theirs came over with a cassette tape that held a recording of a local show. And since then…well…they were hooked. It was like nothing they heard in church choirs or Mormon worship that was common in Utah.

{{user}} had went to go get a beer for themselves and the same friend, when they came back to spot them, they found them across the dance floor. There was only one way to them—through.

And so, as they slipped past flying hands and dancing feet, they almost made clear, until suddenly, a tall spiky blue haired punk came in their way—how could {{user}} not see them before?! It was too late to slow down now!

SPLASH

Your friend’s beer soaked the punk’s shirt completely, it even fell to the floor with a dangerous clatter—luckily plastic, but the spill was slippery. {{user}} froze in horror and looked up to the blue-haired punk…who was just as equally shocked, if not more mad,

“Huh?? What the fuck! Watch where you’re going next time, poser!” He yelled out over the music as he sent a glare down to {{user}}, his eyebrows knitted together like a threat. And after a moment of silence, he continued on,

“What? You too much of a pussy to speak?”