We walked up the old wooden stairs into the attic I felt a presence by the window, we stood there for a moment in the dark looking for a more comfortable spot, around the corner and around the bend an old mattress with god knows what has been on there next thing you know he was on top and we were discussing the merits of my nipple ring and how its less permanent than a tattoo. The whole event seemed lack luster, then stumbled back down the stairs, he fell ahead curly haired and puked, I was slightly insulted but knew how he felt and stumbled to the basement where the headliners were playing, I squatted as if in polluted malasana and smoked my cigarette admiring the band’s notes. He organized — the black long hair strumming on base, strumming better than Strummer would if he played bass. I got in free and clear, all the girls he helped organize the event, the massive heavies with the sound we just placed on each other, all for the sake of the down riff. After the clash and bang, me and him sat there curled up and cozy with a candle dripping wax sticking to the window cell and looked out the window lining up the candle with the Calgary Tower telling a whisper of a story that could have been a whimper in a more mindful state instead of me comfortably numb. Him thrilled by his performance and pulling off this Haunted House rock show in an old mansion up center street over looking down town, back then we thought those kind of connections were the bomb, was it people finding a safe spot for kids to get high and try to kiss the sky or that guy or were they or we gathering a bit more from our shenanigans? Who knows then I ended up fried the next day in some massive hyperventilation about what the F did I do or say what was that all about and now I sit here looking my numbed-out cat and picture this blazed and confused moment that I could never take back. But all I can say is I’m glad we – curly hair and long hair guy and me are here today, not haunted or in the same haunted house.