Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Smokes, Goodbyes, & Promises

Collin

The pizza joint was packed, the air greasy with melted cheese and the faint, musky scent of beer and cigarettes that seemed to cling to every corner. The band, all loud mouthed charm and frenzied energy, were the last group still lingering, leaning into each other over cardboard plates, their conversations mingling with laughter that was beginning to feel a little tired.

Erin had spread out the polaroids like a mini-gallery on the table, each picture capturing some flash of last night's madness - half moon smiles, blurry faces, Tre with his hair completely upside down, Billie caught mid laugh with his head thrown back, and me, blurry eyed and wild haired. The photos were a mix of candid and chaotic.

"This one's for you, Mike," Erin said, sliding one over. It was a photo of him from last night, still grinning, his eyes catching the light of the broken lamp. She passed around a couple more: one of Tre pretending to drink from a broken bottle like it was a prize, another of Billie with the first traces of the early morning light dancing on his face, still smirking.

"Here's one for you, Collin," she added, her voice playful but a little softer now, knowing how much this night had taken out of me.

I took the photo from her, me, laughing too hard with Billie, his guitar in my lap. I felt a sharp pang at the sight of it. The photo, like everything else that night, was a moment suspended in time. A fragment of chaos and clarity all in one. For a second, I just stared at it, feeling the weight of the situation land on me.

They were leaving soon.

After this dinner, Erin and I were going back to our hotel room, packing, and then driving back to Texas. And as much as I didn't want to go, especially after this strange, whirlwind mess, here was a sense of relief settling in. I wasn't one for the spotlight, not the way these guys lived in it. Rebellion, I was good with punk, rock 'n' roll, that was where I felt at home. But all this madness? This wasn't really me.

Sure, I was a little type A, used to being the quiet observer, keeping my head down. I'd let my walls down for a night, and for what? To be a part of this rollercoaster? It felt out of character, too loud for me.

I glanced around the table, seeing everyone's faces lit by the flicker of neon lights and half empty beer bottles. Erin caught my eye, and something in her expression softened as she caught the way I was staring at the photo in my hand. I could feel my lips press together. A part of me wished I could stay, throw caution to the wind and just... live in this moment. But that wasn't me.

"You're gonna be okay," Erin said, nudging me with her knee under the table. "It was just one night. No regrets, right?"

I nodded quickly, too quickly - too defensively. "Yeah, no regrets. Just... it's a lot, you know? I don't know how you do it. All of this."

Erin chuckled, giving me a look. "Chaos is my thing. You know that. Besides, I'm a little high strung sometimes too. But trust me, this life? It gets easier once you stop caring about the mess."

Billie, overhearing, snorted from across the table. "Erin's got it down to an art form. Chaos as a lifestyle." He glanced at me with a more serious expression than I expected. "You were good for it, though, Collin. You might've been a little... out of your comfort zone, but you fit."

I felt my heart give a little thump at his words, his voice warm in a way I didn't quite expect. The punk rock, chaotic scene, yeah, I could see myself in it. But this wasn't the world I came from. I couldn't decide whether I was more terrified or drawn to it.

"Not sure I fit," I muttered. "I'm more about the shadows, you know? Being out here in the light, with all the noise, feels kinda... wrong. I like my chaos more controlled."