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I'm 16. I'm searching for a sound. I'm trying to find my voice.
...

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Spring, 16, caged desperate. Wake now or never. Therapy maybe leads me where can see over. Mom, Dad, clueless. Older bro keeps feeding me tapes; past embarrassed, now offers: can tag along.

July 2, wow The Who! Giants Stadium. Too shy to talk to those in caravan. Swimmer’s plugs, stolen from Dad; still so damn loud. Crowd scares me. How will I survive till end?

Two hours transformed! When’s the next one?

Music melds with inner noise, provides my voice. After last notes, start to form something to talk about. Take a chance, call one who met on that July Sunday. "Would you like to see with me, Dylan Lake Compounce?"

My next step: The Anthrax. Ska’s sweet gatekeeper. Now punk rock, even if I'm hiding in the back. Takes few months, I push to front.

My home is sound! Summer reborn.

School’s still a drag, but at least I have friends in the lunch trenches. Share memories of summer concerts, plot weekend get-outs. Punk show kids from all the towns: Wilton, Westport, Weston. Tri-state freaks we gravitate. Then Anthrax closes down.

New hangouts. Rocky Horror. Parties but not my house. Home by 2 turns to 4, parents freaking out. Dramas seethe, often me afraid to lose friends I've found. Graduate. Summer hey '91, please be best one!

Who needs a job! Scene in parking lots.

Something’s wrong.

credits

from There's No Place Like Know Where?, released June 22, 2017
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Photo: Bathroom of Trash American Style, Danbury, CT.

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Run-On Sunshine Saint Petersburg, Florida

Video by Taylor Ducklow!: www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkFoZcqVfqw

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