I was down in southern utah in a little town called Moab. Moab’s quite world renown for having cooler rocks than most places, and a friend from uni had given me an invite to check it out. Being into rocks at the time, I accepted and that’s when the beginning began.

The night I got into town we hit up a party with some of Tess’s friends. I’d spent the last year in the civilized atmosphere of Salt Lake City and had forgotten what small towns were like. Here four hours south of salt lake city, America’s heartland was out in full force.

We walk in and I’m immediately marked out, I’ve made the mistake of wearing a button-down to a small town party. A jock wonders over and slurs something about us laughing at him. White kids always want to fight for some reason.

Topless jailbait with a mouthful of cosmetic dentistry and a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade shouts riotously from one of the bedrooms.

In the background the stereo is still to the windows and the walls, sweat dripping down its balls.