ne, and Spike drummed like an earthquake god. Cyrus stood on the fringes, taking a drag from something that was decidedly n

ed youth of Am

and fools fo

hiny Washing

juice round the

rising 1%, see

enups in McMansi

ams we held under

suburbs, ‘til we’r

, white painted r

ho chug from the

fakers, trenders,

lless, we'd rather

h pit moved in frenzy as we performed the final piece from our concept album about midlife crises and the 99%’s suburban discontent. Spike drummed on his cymbal

owd ch

rowd pleaser, modified for Millenials: “You guys are great. I want to bottle your blood and sell it or something.

blood shit - she’s a parasite. Be careful or she’ll sip you right up.” He slung an arm around me. “CDs are at th

atch!” came an a

. He caught it, shrugged, and bit i

know who or where in the

hat had my favorit

oss

ger and threw it back at the

case. The Gibson, christened Orpheus Zeta Jones, was my college enrollment present. Spike hauled my amp into hi

quished in the back. I was not a small girl, quite the opposite, and my ample hips took up most of the space. My roommate, dressed in a white jumpsuit, smelled pleasantly of

ar away from Mary J

los said, his labret piercing flashing in the streetlights. He sang along: “I BL

s off mid-lyric. Some song from Rum, Sodomy, & the Lash played. A Rainy Night i

n his chair. “Fuck yo

lear the drug-fueled interior. “Don’t start this, man. We both know the C

e MacGowan doesn’t sound like a wino? Screw your t

w what smegma smells like? How m

uck clean dicks.” Carlos took a d

lly shared the same taste in men, but my taste in women was mine and mine alone. Too bad there weren’t any hot pianists from Sarah Lawrence in my band. T

straight was dime a dozen resembling overall population demographics, but Cyrus? What the hell was he? Only t

c genius. In the few weeks that I had known him, Cy had spoken of no significant other, but with his dramatic flair for dress in all white apparel, long flowing floofy hair, and androgynous looks, I suspected

ing past a yellow light. “It would hit two birds with one sto

t I become a dude and play with myself, or Hotsauce. God k

change our name. ‘Iguana Knees’ is too gr

ever fucking know what ge

rus, and my ankle throbbe

his reverie. “I think ‘Iguana

wie in Labyrinth for that set we wrote about Christina Rossetti’s Goblin Market? Jareth or the Erlkonig or whatever, and Ziggi looked like friggin Sarah Brightman from Phantom of t

reate sterility. Anyways, we’re not trying to go

hmond anarchists and crust and pogo punks. A few Juggalos too from that clown acid set we did

u, like the Oracle of Delphi. We’re kinda like the modern prophets of music, that’s

ght

ac in a garden apartment in Clarendon in an area halfway between government subsidized housing and a youth mecca. The ho

y Science Theater 3000 into the TV. Cyrus sat in a bean bag on the floor while my bandmates and I

e aliens. The actors playing the aliens were poorly made-up, with green rubber lizard masks, and the 70’s

he screen. He seemed almost solemn. The m

crew aliens. They cree

he table made of wooden

me up. I was convinced that aliens were real, and that they

ing to do with a crusty bassist’s buttho

pty beer can out of his hands and dow

ould make our new EP about aliens. No, alienatio

I want to fight is the idiot sitting ne

you play a jacked up bass, and you listen to crap like Venom and Motörhead, and yo

ing off and I haven’t showered in twenty years,” Carlos said.

my ideas. What’s your damage? Why

oesn’t need more angry white twenty-somethings railing against the estab

ed Millennials, eh?” Spike snorted. “Isn’t t

an 99% of the crap that’s out there. People hear the Iguana Knees, a

like a dung stink bomb going off in my head.

tack Squad, don’t you, Hotty Tho

as have knees,” I said, tired of my band-mate’s

s arms. “Have you ever seen a wombat? I sure haven’t. They’re not at the National Zoo or anythi

nt, then pulled out the broken lighter he’d collected from his pocket and flicked it repeatedly. No flame came on

” he said. “Ugh. Why can’t we ever agree on

beer. “Us? Go on tour? With

always hate my ideas, whether it’s about going on tour or how

said. “Spike

to deal with you guys.” He cleared some belched-up f

my voice trembling

entrails of a fat National Mall pigeon. They are very in tune with the local ley lines. The answer would still probably be a no in the prophetic pigeon’s spilled, shimmeri

oner sage agrees. At l

our way. We can keep our shitty name and stay in the shitty suburbs and keep wo

lain. Come on. I’m just tryi

ng,” Carlos said, refu

s what you think of me, I

hter. “Alright then. N

ve. Hotsauce is just being a tool because he’s drunk off

hand. “Whatever.

d me outside

! I’m a fucking self-made woman!” I raged, looking up at the stars. The lone persimmon tree by the c

put it out with the heel of his sho

s, I g

waiting on my parent’s spare truck to be fixed at the autobody shop before I

rock. I sat there, doubting the validity of my own ideas and my place

aired barista named Ziggi Moondust Collins conceived to Thin White Duke bops in a band that’s falling apar

should simply let go of your worries,” he said, his baritone voice s

Maybe I should just write about

to play David Bo

e radio psychic? I was probably conce

ss to see which button to press to turn off the musi

hat button!” Cyru

. “What are you talking about

at plunged backwards, taking me south with it. The windows darkened and the car thrust upwards, lik

the

Actually, it might be a bit difficult. Do the stars look like naked Salomes to you? Dancing seven veils… I hit the bong too much. And it d

turbu

d, oh my god! Fuck.”

eaking in the same sonorous, gurgling language. I shriek

ponded in the sea seraph tongue of

rned a large green hovering dial. The screen enlarged, and foreign script scrolled across it. The symbol

speaker seemed to be asking a question

radio’s query in the same language, so unnatural when it came

in, my puke flying around the car-turned-spaceship and turning the

you press the launch button. This is all my fault, my sweet silkworm.” He kissed my knuckles

kiss me? Oh god, I’m facing more p

ime. My head spun, and the force of us flying t

his one out. Your body is fragile as a cherry blossom in repose on an Apr

? No.

me in crescendoing neap tides - and a fine mist seeped from the air conditioning vents. I inhaled the mist and was instantly calmed l

s no

cks

ck

ck

enter of