It took me 3 years and a road trip to Oregon to realize that I loved this girl. We had always agreed that Stop The (Fuckin) Car was the best Circa Survive song too, which worked tremendously in her favor.
I had always wondered what a soundtrack to my life would sound like. Legitimately, not like some piece of shit burned CD but more of a genuine, well thought out mix tape. At 18 I had already come into 754 albums. I never really thought that anyone else enjoyed it the way I did. I mean there was never another 4th grader who would sing Exile On Main Street in its entirety with me, and I’ve never heard anyone else rap a pencil on their desk to the beat of Bonzo’s Montreux.
I remember my mother would open the door to my bedroom and find me on the floor with all her 45s and CDs splayed out in front of me, but being a woman who’d framed over 20 Bob Dylan vinyl sleeves and hung them about the house, she couldn’t have been surprised. I don’t know that it was genetic, but it was definitely part of who I was.

View this story's 1 comments.