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Observation of a punk kid at rancho high school
They're all so sure of their positions.
Completely confident of their vast knowledge
Of music and the rot.
I have to laugh because of how much like sheep they seem.
One, decked out in his song of the moment points
His fingers glaze the surface of plastic,
Sheathing a 10X8 glossy of someone he's never seen.
"Who's that?" He asks, his eyes straining at her red hair and full lips
Trying to assertain whom she is without my assistance.
"Tori Amos." I reply, half paying attention to him in his Clash t-shirt.
"Oh dude. She sucks ass. The last movie I saw her in blew."
I shrug. "I suppose so. I've never seen her in a movie before.. she isn't an actress."
His eyebrows cock quizzically for a moment.
"Oh," he follows quickly, "...well, whatever. She still sucks."
"If you say so." I shift the folder to my other hip.
Another comes over, his studs sparkling with a metal gleam in the winter sunlight.
"Yeah, she sucks like your mom."
I laugh at the absurdity of this all
The herd instinct in affect, it seems.
"I would suggest you get some taste,
and maybe a brain before you graduate, dude."
I shrug again, and meld back in.
You laugh because I'm different, I laugh because you're all the same...
