𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍?

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎

Wow. It's cold. And wet. That's the first thing that crosses my mind when I step off the bus in Seattle on the 19th of March, 1989. I'm eighteen years old, fresh out of high school. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but Seattle seems like a promising place. Or it did, on my mom's TV screen, and on the postcards you see. Y'know, the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, all that jazz. Oh, and the blossoming rock scene. LA isn't the place to be anymore, at least if you're me. Maybe if you're a guy in neon spandex pants, excessive hairspray, and more slutty makeup than a stripper...anyways, LA ain't it. The punk scene in Seattle is dangerous, or so they say. I wouldn't know, but I'd like to find out. At the moment, though, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Like the fact that it's cold, and wet, and I have nowhere to go. Good job, Nova. Great planning skills. Way to think ahead. I don't even have an umbrella.

The streets look mean and unforgiving--nothing like my hometown of Columbia, South Carolina. The homeless are crowded under awnings and doorways, and the people walking don't greet each other with "hey y'all" and "how's your mother?" I'm so lost. I didn't think it would be so...cold. Depressing, y'know?

For lack of a better alternative, I duck in the first store I come to.

"Hey, welcome to Sonic Boom. Lemme know if I can help you find anything."

"Thanks." I mumble, looking at records like I can afford them. Ha. I can't even afford to eat. I can look, though, so I make my way over to the T. Rex section and flip through. Damn, they've got a lot. Maybe all of them!

"'Scuse me."

"Oh, sorry." I say, stepping out of the way for a cute, boyish blonde wearing a Lakers jersey. He smiles.

"Hey, you like T. Rex too? Cool!"

"Yeah."

"I've never seen you here before. What's your name?"

"Nova."

"I'm Andrew! Hey, you should come to my band's show tonight, here." He pulls a crumpled purple flyer from his pocket. "It's at Central Saloon at 9:00. Please come! Only three people came last time--my roommate, my girlfriend, and my guitarist's girlfriend. We hand out flyers all the time but we still don't have a good audience."

"Maybe." I say. No way I'm going to his show. I gotta find somewhere to sleep.

"I hope you do, it-oh shit, I'm late!" Andrew glances toward the door with a panicked look on his face. "Bye then!"

"Bye." I unenthusiastically call. What a weirdo. Who the fuck wears a tank top when it's freezing? And with shorts and LEGGINGS? That ain't it, dude. Anyways, he looks like a broke and homeless version of Bret Michaels.

I leave the record store and start off down the street, searching for somewhere mostly out of the rain where I could sleep. Eventually, I find an awning that looks promising, so I sit down underneath and stake my claim, or so to speak.

So this is how being homeless works. I sit here, cold and wet and bored, forever. Or until I freeze to death or get raped or stabbed or something. What a fun time.

I look at my watch--the mens watch that I bought at Walmart for $7 when I was a freshman--and frown. 5:34pm. The sun's gonna go down soon and I'll be even colder. Great.

***

By 7:30, I'm freezing cold and bored. Andrew's show is sounding better and better, the more I think about it. I pull out the flyer and squint at the lettering. Central Saloon. I don't know how to get there or anything.

I get up and stretch my legs. There's a scruffy guy standing at the corner, and he looks like the type that might know where Central Saloon is.

"Hey." I say. "Can you possibly give me directions to Central Saloon?"