He had a musical note tattoo'd on his right forearm, I took it as a sign of self affirmation.
Their sound was derivative of Pavement, Built To Spill, Weezer, and Death Cab For Cutie.
Awkward stage banter to an inattentive audience.
They were playing to the back of the room.
They were playing for gas money to make it home.
Fender Stratocaster with an abalogna pic guard.
Grey t-shirt with a red heart printed in the center of the chest.
It was a Sunday night in Denver.
Skinny white kids played indie rock, committed drinkers clapped unenthusiastically from the bar.
The lead guitarists hair hung down over his eyes while he played.
Sometimes you get more of an effect the less effort you put into it.
Who cares if they remember the name of your band.
It was a time and place, I wish you could have seen it.
Kerouac died in St. Petersburg, but there's still poetry alive in Denver.