We did. I wouldn't trade our time for being 16 over again today. My brain tells me every generation must feel this way but my heart tells me no, it was the best of times and you know it was. These days they wave cell phones but lighters were so much better. Everything is a fading echo of what it was. Life itself is an old addict chasing the rush of the first thrill, a harlot desperately grasping the prettiest flesh in search of innocence lost, an asylum orderly looking with longing at the out of control laughter of a lunatic even.
We were bad. Very very bad. But if I took twenty years off my life for those days it was worth it. I'm respectable now and my idols who showed me the way are dying. Sometimes I think if a convertible drove up blaring Bowie with an old friend who wanted to drive all night to the coast just to take a handful of blotter and watch the sun come up I would do it, not as a last gasp, but to remember the why of the first one. I still don't want to die knowing my last conversation was about prostates or politics. I want beauty, the beauty of those days, it's still there. I hear it in the music. And I'm still not afraid to be bad for good reason.