She sat in the back of the car and watched the rain drops slide down the window. There was no way she was going back in that tent. Besides the fact that duh, it was raining, the guys had come to visit and decided to spend the night as well. No thanks, she thought.
The hiss of the cassette signaled the end of side one. She didn’t hesitate to push eject, flip it over, and click play to keep the melodic beat going. She was in love with this band called Nine Inch Nails. Every industrial beat and angered lyric spoke to her soul. She was obsessed with this new sound. It seemed to reflect how she felt inside, give voice to the anger and confusion brought on by adolescence. Every generation finds its voice in music. Who knew Trent Reznor would become the perfect anthem for Generation X.
She was trying to write down her feelings. She had spent the weekend avoiding flippant experiences and vapid people. The shallow conversations and teenage fraternizing with the locals left her empty and frustrated. For some time she kept waiting for the fun. She thought there was something wrong with her, that she was missing something. But this weekend she realized she was fine, it was the world that was fucked up. She was stuck in a series of existences that offered mediocrity at best. This weekend she discovered people out there who didn’t eat meat and read Ayn Rand and Hunter S Thompson. There were boys who wanted to sit by a fire and play gin rummy, not tool around on jet skis and drink Bud Light. There was a dark, creative side growing in her and she was going to do everything she could to nurture this discovery.
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