Turf. Need I say more?
--
When you walk into band class late.
This is it.
This is were I die.---
Walking to put your instrument away, and always running face to face with the puddle of trumpet and trombone spit---
Hearing your reeds screams of agony when it chipped *single tear streams down face*---
Wind. Sheet music on stand.---
Putting your saxophone across your lap...then feeling your spit on your legs leaking out.---
When your marching, and you see a guard spinning the flag at your direction.
This is it.
This is were I die.---
Hot California weather and marching uniforms aren't a great combo wombo---
Cringing when you see that one kid holding their shako by the plume---
When competing, feeling jealous when you see another bands cool marching outfit(btw, I love this one school in Oregons band uniform. I think their mascot was a leopard? Something like that, but their uniform was black and teal. Their plumes tho ヽ('o`;
Tell me which school it is if you know!
YOU ARE READING
Relatable shit and rants
RandomYes and occasionally some hetalia shit (maybe a lot) This is where I just express my shit here. Language warning btw.