Sex, drugs, and indie-pop

Gina’s the one who found me. “Hey, I see you like Superchunk,” she wrote. “Going to the show tonight?” She looked cute, so I wrote back and five hours later we standing next to each other in the back of Cat’s Cradle drinking oversized Foster’s. She joked that she could only dance if she were drunk or on coke, so we ended up at my place, doing lines until 5am. Before we crashed, I sent a “sick day” email to my boss. When I woke up, Gina was gone. I couldn’t find her online, either. I think she blocked me.

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Title by: petiteshack
Story by: Nick

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Undo

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