|| Stan laid in his bed at around 3 am, The Front Bottoms blasting through his old ass headphones. He couldn’t sleep. He observed his room, band posters and random records framed on the walls. Stan’s dog, Sparky lay nearby, scratching his ear with his hind leg. The stars were dim from air pollution, dimmer than the old glow-in-the-dark star stickers Stan had slapped on his ceiling when he was 9. ||