“Dude, we’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t we?” I asked a friend of mine, who prefers to remain anonymous. We’ll call him Keenan.
“Yeah, but we’re actually fucking doing it. We’re actually fucking going to the other side of the Hill,” he mused, lacing up his new Nikes like they were armor. Our pulses thumped in our throats and were drunk with the exotic lure of the place.
There’s a Hall & Oates song called “So Close” which contains these lyrics: So close, yet so far away. We believe in tomorrow, maybe more than today. Daryl Hall and John Oates often strike my steely heart, their words like a flint. But this time, the resulting spark lit a strong urge. RISD, our redheaded, sulky stepsister, had lurked in my skull for too long as just a murky ghost.
Who were these too-hip brooders? I had heard whispers, seen glimpses, but I wanted to crawl right down into the belly of the beast and understand our cigarette-wolfing, wanton pseudo-siblings that were so close, yet so far away. Continue Reading