Bad time to be you – bad time to be broke – bad time to have no wheels. Tickets for Alice Cooper, out in Bumfuck Anaheim – might as well be Mars. Girlfriend grounded – stuck with an extra ticket – two Tull albums and an unopened copy of Eat A Peach – Rhino paid cash – fifteen bucks – enough for two tickets. She was gonna take her dad’s car – Dad found two joints in the front seat. There goes that party. No car forever and I’m off limits. Bad influence – who, you?
Another weekend in Westwood – hanging out – doing nothing – bumming cigarettes – maybe there’s a party. Two tickets burning a hole in your pocket – Alice Cooper – been waiting for months.
Your future – endless nothing – and then summer – and more endless nothing. You need to get high. It was perfect two days ago – had a plan. It was going to get serious this time. You’ve been seeing a lot of each other – all signs pointing to love – she makes you break out in a sweat – she’s the one. She’s trapped at home now – can’t even call. Her house is like San Quentin – mom screens her calls. She hears you breathing and hangs up. They’re convinced you’re a dope addict – those weren’t even your joints – wasn’t even you – she got them on the last day of school – you get blamed – you’re the bad guy – you’re the bad influence. Is love always like this?
You and everybody else, hanging out in Westwood. Cops drive by and look at you for an extra ten seconds before ambling down the street. Tourists, exchange students, UCLA – Summer school – bumming cigarettes – they all love Marlboro’s – lucky for you. Share them with your buddies who are as broke as you.
Show starts in an hour – even if you hitched you’d never get there on time. You give up – you fling your tickets in the air and let them fall somewhere on the sidewalk – the best it’s going to be is part of a landfill somewhere. The best it’ll be for you is to forget about it. You really liked Aqualung.
A minute later you hear screaming from down the street and commotion around a VW camper full of kids wearing “Welcome To My Nightmare” t-shirts and “School’s Out” blasting on the car stereo. One of the kids is holding your tickets as they jump, yelling into the van and race off, heading to the 405.
Not your Karma, that’s what you tell yourself – over and over as you watch people walk by while you drag on your fifteenth Marlboro, listening to The Obscene Steven Clean coming out of a Mustang, windows rolled down – parked at a meter in front of you.
At least there’s music – at least there’s KMET – could be worse – could be elevator music. You inhale. Summer is just getting started.
You sigh.
– Here’s an hour’s worth of Steven Clean from KMET in June 1975.
