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The line winds around the corner.
I write notes on the back of my hand.
The doors open.
We scatter to the corners and never meet each other's eyes.
The new album feels like a ghost of the old, but nobody in this room cares.
The support band barely registers.
Jet Black New Year hits like a suckerpunch. I think that I'm going to die.
My hearing feels detuned. I can hardly stand.
See this band. See this band.
I write notes on the back of my hand.
The doors open.
We scatter to the corners and never meet each other's eyes.
The new album feels like a ghost of the old, but nobody in this room cares.
The support band barely registers.
Jet Black New Year hits like a suckerpunch. I think that I'm going to die.
My hearing feels detuned. I can hardly stand.
See this band. See this band.
