up the punks.

i remember it was so cold i was crying. i was sure the tears would freeze to my face, rip off my skin. we missed our train. i was only wearing tights, some ripped up shirt and your leather jacket. you know, the one you bought off ebay, already studded and painted. your mohawk, earlier standing a proud foot high was stuffed under a hood. the train would come in the morning and find us frozen together, waiting to leave boston.

i think it's that cold out tonight.
only there's no more leather and no trains.
and we're no longer 17.