(c) Andrew Baranek
It’s that kid again, he’s been tagging along all summer. I’ve seen him at every Foul Tip show, standing way in the back shadows, smiling as the band thrashes onstage. It’s weird because he doesn’t even look like a punk: he always wears khaki shorts, a white t-shirt. Like he’s a Boy Scout, or maybe a bando.
And now he’s in my cellar while I’m supposed to be recording Foul Tip’s next record. He sits there in the folding chair, with his weird little smirk. And Nate the frontman’s on the cement floor next to him, in tight black jeans and jacket, all studded with silver. And Nate’s staring off, contemptuous, getting his Foul Tip face ready for the next vocal take. I love when he gets like that.
But this other kid is all like, delicate… or normal… or something. With his hands tucked in his…
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