I rode four buses from the burbs to the streets of P Town. A kid who is as rebellious as his parents allowed him to be. I am filled with grunge and a hunger for falafel. A youth shaking with an indie fervor and excitement for the big city soundscapes. Shards of metal rattling in my pocket, the spoils of my treasure hunt in the worn floral couch. On the way, I made a friend. He sees me on the other end of the bus and comes near.  He asks about my taste in music but before I can answer he schools me on ‘real’ music.

“DK's, Fugazi and Black Flag. Everything else is shit, Got it?!” he says without blinking.
“Yeah, ok.” I say.
“Too right!” He says before aggressively getting off the bus without saying goodbye.

I walk through North Park Blocks and I see her. Her long bangs with a shaved back head, piercings and attitude gleam in the persistent light showers of Cascadia. She held a cardboard placard that made me laugh. Necrophiliac, in need of money for a shovel. She reads my soul, a 14 year old from a conservative home desires: danger, sex, rock, dyed hair. A youth in need of that sweet revolution, no matter how superficial. We smiled at each other, she was the Gutter Punk Angel of Burnside.

I kept walking. East to west and then back again, on the great lattice of concrete bridges, I stepped over those who are houseless in their slumber. Trying not to wake them with the jingle of my wallet chain. No great reward without the fearful journey, just a step closer to the special place. 2nd Avenue Records store. Guiding my way through the lush stacks of CDs, plastic, click, click. Trying to avoid the looks of the cashier who must think here is another kid with no money, which was true. I select one, pop it in. My ears...are surrounded by bliss. I purchase this artifact with change and leave a happy customer. 

On my return journey I eat a greasy burrito and count the birds in their murmuration waiting for the moment I drop some of my food. I see her again. She is now standing sipping a cup of coffee. I feel confident and I stop in front of her pulling what change I have left. I gently dropped it in her hat laid in front of her. “Hi.” I say. I get a dismissive glance and then she looks away. My heart is pulverized.

I start walking back to the bus station to begin my two hour journey to Vantucky. The weather turns cool and the sun pokes out the clouds. I shuffle past the many characters on my bus and find a seat at the back. I put on my cheap headphones and the circle revolves in my discman. A sweet sound emanates, those lofi garage notes take hold. I think to myself you didn’t get the girl but you got the music.