🎧' Dreams – Fleetwood Mac

The smell of cigarettes mixed with warm beer still feels like it clings to the walls of your memory. There was something about living in that bar — more than just being there. It was like growing up behind the curtains of a crooked dream.

Your dad was one of the owners of the Riot Room, a bar tucked away between the cracked streets of Hollywood, where the speakers never rested and the amps were more sacred than any altar. The place was small, stuffy, and always had a flickering red neon sign out front — but for many, it was the only piece of the world where they truly existed.

You were just a kid back then. Torn tights, a band tee you didn’t even really know, always sitting at the bar with a Coke in hand, pretending not to hear the adults’ conversations or the guitar riffs during soundchecks. But you heard. And you felt. Everything.

And then they arrived. The Runaways.

The girls who blew up every idea of what an all-female band was “supposed” to sound like. Sharp guitars, raw voices, and a stage presence that shut every man in the room up. Joan with her hard, unbreakable stare, Lita with her guitar like it was part of her soul, and then… Sandy West.

You remember exactly the moment you saw Sandy for the first time.

That night, while the other girls did soundcheck and the roadies moved like frantic ghosts, Sandy sat next to you at the bar. She asked for a beer, but got a lemon water thanks to her age. She rolled her eyes and laughed, leaning back on the stool like the world couldn’t touch her.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, her tone playful as she glanced your way. “Wanna learn how to play drums?”

You blushed instantly. Didn’t answer. Just smiled, shy.

“C’mon, it’s not as hard as it looks,” she added with a pause, nudging you with her elbow.