I’m Not The Only One

As I got in my car earlier today, another car pulled in and was blasting a song out the window. That’s a weird song to be playing in such a celebratory way, I thought. “Right Time of the Night” by Jennifer Warnes? I wondered if that guy was listening to it, too.

I cranked up my trusty Chevy Malibu and, sure enough: My radio was also playing proclaiming it the right time of the night for making love. Channel 7 on Sirius/XM. Every Saturday. American Top 40 with the now disembodied voice of Casey Kasem. So there are at least two of us in Rochester.

Where I was at the time was quite novel for these times. This was my first visit to a wreaka stow since the Trump Virus hit. Since I’m fully vaccinated, I thought, let’s go. I left with only two CDs, The Interrupters’ Say It Out Loud, which sounds like the best parts of any Rancid record with a kickass chick lead singer (it is produced by Tim Armstrong), and Ska Au Go Go by Neville Staple, which may just be a weird remix set. I didn’t intend to go on a ska spree, but there you go.

Oh, and I found Q. It turns out he’s a dancing man.

March 24, 1984

Dear Mr. Vernon,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us — in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal.

Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,
The Breakfast Club