This House Is Not A Landmark / Belmont & Clark
I stare at the setting sun staining the clouds cotton candy colors, I sit here so long that the dirty tar roof stains the back of my pants. Just, just sit here with me for a minute. Look at those clouds. Sometimes I pretend they’re mountains. I pretend they’re the punk rock candy mountains - mountains I can easily climb, and on the other side, there are no parents who get upset about your queerness, there are no suicidal feelings, your favorite bands never break up and your favorite places never close down. There’s only punk rock records and cute zinesters and free beer forever.
Someone responded to one of the nostalgia-keepers, and said: are you saying you are sad to see a dunkin donuts [sic] and its parking lot go? If so, that’s fucking weird. Well, then I’m fucking weird, too. I could try and give you some arguments against gentrification, some reasoning behind why I think it’s important to leave a space for the wacky teenagers and their crime, for the troublemakers and the hookers, because that’s part of what’s making me angry. What I’m even angrier about is that they’re destroying a piece of my history, and I don’t like change.