The Beginning: the beautiful logic of this is that is has no actual beginning. So, here's the first story I'm giving you, and if you were allowed to read books as a kid, you'll know how to operate this story.
One day your best friend hands you a copy of The Door's self-titled album; you cautiously put it on th e CD player, not knowing what to make of all the power in it. Your 14-year-old ass is born and bred on American-style denial and moral correctness. The Doors change that. Why late 60's/early 70's rock is so enveloping is this: it is a gateway drug to the future of rock and roll while being easy to digest and, well, funky.
All this while operating at altered states? You ponder what it means and so enter a teenage world of dreamy afternoons spent babysitting and evenings trying to smoke pot off of crumpled and tortured pepsi cans. You drink friends’ parents liquor and refill the bottles with water or soda, cuz they’ll never notice.
Somehow, through all of this nothing you're up to, you’ve managed to score a gig babysitting thrice weekly for this smart Jewish mom who’s a social worker downtown, and a radical feminist everywhere. On the walls of her library, titles like Our Bodies, Our Selves loom, and you read the book, learning to differentiate between your urethra and your clit. You devour The Feminine Mystiqe, Reviving Ophelia, Be Here Now, amazed at the knowledge this woman has amassed on her humble gentrified-city shelves. You begin to look forward to Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. You’re learning tons these days, and the kids are pretty cool, too.
Since you moved away from your hometown and into the big city right before you got this job, you only wander outside of your apartment for a few, specific purposes.
-To ‘attend’ school, where the kids terrorize you.
-To go the library, where nobody but the cute restocking boy bothers you
-To go to youth group.
Go hang around aimlessly downtown.
