It’s April 1965 – You Live In L.A. – You’re A Teenager – You’re Gonna Start A Band – People Laugh – You Don’t.
Your dad blew a gasket – he’s been doing that a lot lately. He squints at you across the dinner table – won’t look you in the eye – he hates your music – hates your hair – he’s starting to hate you. You don’t care – this is important
