Set The Town Afire

The Beginning

1984

"Kirk Hammett sucks!"

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I was at a show from a local band here in L. A. Actually, I had never been to a concert before, especially not a metal one.
And how I hated being there. People around me were going crazy, thrashing everything around them, stagediving and what not else.
And one of the many drunks continued to inform us about his hate for that Kirk guy, whoever that was.

As for the band, they must have been completely fucked up, wasted. The singer and guitarist had long curly strawberry blonde hair, others would have referred to it as golden, but I knew since I had the same color.
He definitely wasn't a good singer, in the first minutes I was tempted to leave but couldn't because I was stuck in the front of the stage, with people shoving their bodies into my back.
The other guys weren't doing much better either, one of them also wore a lot of spikes and looked really, really ugly. I didn't like him.

What the hell was I doing here?

Well, I had only recently discovered so-called thrash metal and had been begging my parents to buy me tickets for a show for weeks now. I wanted to become one of the cool kids in school and hang out with all the long-haired guys wearing sweaty band shirts.

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"I know, I know!", the singer confessed to the Kirk-hating guy, obviously being pissed off about him being mentioned. I wondered what the big deal was with him. But before I could think more about it, the next deafening song started and I was trying my best to survive the pit behind me. I valued my neck at a pretty high rate.

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It was after the show, everyone was leaving and the band guys were packing up their things. Since there was a big rush going on at the exits, I waited a bit longer than the others for it to calm down and stayed at the stage.

"Hey, you."

Turning around, I saw the singer approach me. He was stumbling a bit, obviously drunk. When he came closer, I could also smell it on his breath.

"You kinda look like me.", he said.
I stared at him blankly, not understanding what he meant at first. But then came realization. "Ah, you mean the hair color. Yes, I noticed."
But he wasn't satisfied with my answer: "No, it's not only that. See, we have the same mouth. Your lower lip is fuller than the upper one and it kinda has a twist."

One of the other guys stormed to us, putting a hand on his shoulder and urging him to pack his things up and leave: "Dave, the chicks are waiting for us. Either take that one with you or let another blondie fuck you tonight."

I was speechless. How rude!
"Don't call me blondie, you fucking homo!", I countered and stormed out of the concert hall, through the exit gates and into the streets of L. A.

What a dick. I actually was glad that I hadn't talked to the metalheads at school yet. If they all were like that... And I sure hoped that I wouldn't come across that Dave guy and his fuck buddies again.