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Speak, Minotaur!

Punk Fight
The summer between high school and college, I went up to Seattle to register for classes, look around, and see in just what kind of place I'd be living for the next four years. It's a strange feeling leaping out of the cocoon of your high school environment. You're leaving a place where your position in society and amongst your fiends is, if not optimal, at least well-known. I responded to this feeling by wearing all my old punk clothes, which I hadn't worn since dropping out of the scene a year earlier. It was definately a subconscious attempt to reapply familiar armor. Plus, I wanted to show those folks in Seattle just who was comin' to town.

However, it was much warmer in Seattle than I'd anticipated, and my boots much less comfortable. I spent hours traipsing around UW in black jeans, carrying my jacket and a rumpled duffle bag full of stuff, sweating like a pig with aching feet. No one was impressed with my spiked belt. I felt dumb.

Chez Zeus: Speak, Minotaur!: Station No. 4

Last modified: Thu Mar 31 16:14:13 2005
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