Oops

I’m sitting by the window in my fiend Zep’s bar, Oops, reading the paper. The regular crowd in here is composed mainly of uni students and potheads, all of which are much younger than me.

Zep’s not here and within the establishment reigns the familiar, laid-back slightly anarchic atmosphere that always rules in his absence. The music’s loud and the ashtrays are full. Some of the empty tables have not been cleared of the debris left by previous patrons.

The bar tender sits on a barstool, drinking beer with a group of ‘darks’ – that’s what they call kids that go for the gothic look. I’d almost forgotten – youth – the glamour of spending a whole afternoon on a barstool, chain-smoking cigarettes and wearing black denim.

But then I heard Sonic Youth through the speakers. The deejay was showing off his musical savvy to his friends – and I remembered: head banging to Sonic Youth live, a Crown Lager in my hand and my boots sticking to the carpet of the Corner Hotel.

As I remember this, my hand fiddles with the pearl in my earlobe. Have I changed that much?

I don’t think so. I may come across all respectable, but I still get the music…