Dead Kennedys.

I've never been protected this much in my life before.

They, the older ones who stood in the back and didn't subject themselfs to rape in the pit, stood around me.

Yet they all made sure I could see.

I wanted to dive in there in desprate move to make them notice me.

But they probably wouldn't give a fuck.

The Dead Kennedys are to cool for that.

Nevertheless, I was in a circle of sober and slightly trashed older generation punk fans.

They all had patches on there jacket.

Some laughed at my buttons.

They all laughed at the 5'2 kid attemtping to pogo.

A style of dance they haven't seen in years.

At least I could see threw the cloud of smoke.

Although I felt like I never wanted a toke because it was hot and hard to breathe.

I'm proud of the bruises they gave me.

Proud of how I probably still smell like drunk girl.

Proud how I punched a blonde poser bimbo in the face.

That was my birthday present, mother fucker.