There comes a time in life where age happens. We grow older and then we look back. This happens in the different stages and in phases, which begin from childhood and grow with us until our final days. Old chapters close so new ones can begin.

Sometimes I am touched with a hint of nostalgia. Maybe it’s something in the air. Maybe it’s the change in the season and the cool winds that represent the mornings of early fall are a trigger for me. And then there are October sunsets, which appear golden as ever — or maybe it’s the way my thoughts narrate in my mind; as if to tell a story of me, reliving the old days, back when we were young and free to be crazy.

Nothing is ever the same as it was. Nothing is the same as when we grew up. The kids from the town were the kids from the town and the friends we had are the friends we’d swore we’d have forever.
The places have all changed since then. So have the dress codes and the fashion statements. It seems the whole world went out to get a face lift.

I look back and I think man, I’ve come so far and yet, I wonder to myself, “Where the hell have I been?
I think about the times and the days and nights and the paths I took to get me where I am now. I think about the pain and the glory and the glory and the pain, which I flip-flop because reality has a way of doing this to us. I think about the misrepresentations of life and the ideas that somehow; life has to be a certain way.

Everyone knew when the lights came on it was time to go home. These nights were nothing like anything we would ever see again. We were living in the best moments of our lives and at the beginning chapters of what comes after young adulthood.

I remember these days both fondly and introspectively. I say fondly because yes, these were great times. There was always something going on; however, I say introspectively because I regard these moments as a timeline of travel. This is when life took on a new shape and speed. I swore I knew it all but then again, who doesn’t know it all when they’re young, resilient, and out of control. 

It was just another morning before noon in my town. I was walking towards home after a crazy night and trying to piece together the events from the day before. Randy pulled up in a white van. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail with a blue bandanna wrapped around his forehead.
Randy’s eyes were bloodshot and red. He was already fueled up after drinking from a bottle of 80 proof cheap whiskey. He was ready for trouble. This was for sure. But then again, so was I.
The music was blaring from the radio. There was a lit Marlboro cigarette hanging from his teeth with a long ash that was slightly bent and curved downward. As Randy pulled up, a cloud of smoke poured from the passenger window. The smell from the smoke proved the end of an obvious smoking session that Randy just finished. 

There was a roomful of people. All of them were artists in their own way. I was there with Pete. The only problem is Pete was a wise ass and he always had something to say. I had never been to a showcase before.
This is where actors do little skits. This was almost like a play, but not exactly. Each performance was extremely different. Some of the performers were talented. Others were a bit more abstract or bizarre.

I say this has to be necessary to live. I say the festivals and the concerts and the times in the park when someone had music to liven the mood, or the times when youth was most alive is, was, and will always be enhanced by the sound of the music we played.

I know this is true. It has to be.

I say this is necessary. I say the music is partly how we live and breathe, partly how we feel, partly how we unwind and partly how we remember the crazy episodes of our life. Music gives depth to our senses and livens the pictures in our memory with color.

Please believe me on this one.

I suppose there is someone in every town that feels the need to prove themselves. My guess is there’s always someone looking to be a gangster or a cowboy or tough enough to stand out in a crowd and have people call them “Crazy.”

First, I have to start with a pre-warning of sentiment and understanding. I never use accurate names because anonymity is very important to me. To keep true to this principle of mine, I point out that everything is true. However, tiny details have been changed to honor someone’s privacy. Plus, if you read this, I’d like you to create your own picture and adapt the descriptions to our own imagination.
Be advised, there is no need to feel “Bad” or “Sorry,” or think anything else other than remember the delirious memories of young life when everything was wild and crazy.