i had gone to gainesville for the fest on a friday. i had no money and no solid job but i said 'fuck it'and went anyways. a friend of mine and i loaded up two bicycles in the back of his truck, and stocked up on alcohol and green. on the way we were too stoned to notice the gas needle and subsequently ended up on the side of I-75. After debating what to do we rode our bikes down the highway to the next gas station with a can, filled up, and rode back laughing the whole way as truckers honked their disapproval (or approval) at us. On our way again we made it. The weekend was full of tons of alcohol, plenty of joints, bands and people from all over the country, and ridiculous parties and shows. i spent most of the weekend trying to weasel my way into shows and find a girl from chicago that i desperately wanted to meet.
that night involved keg stands on mini-kegs in the middle of the streets, witnessed fights and cops fucking with people, alcohol flowing freely and drugs easily obtained, random kids and tons of parties. i got so shitfaced i wandered off into a construction site and next thing i knew i woke up on top of two stories of scaffolding. but i was okay with it and wandered back and found my friends. i probably just wanted to look at the stars or something. you know? one of those really lame, cliche things you think is a great idea in your altered state of mind
fast forward to saturday morning my friend and i woke up both clutching our back packs with our heads against the windows in his truck. we had no other place to sleep and we didnt really care all that much anyways. we had been at a house show the night before in an older house. the wood floors buckled, amps blared, people were packed in and i watched my friend drum and have beer willingly poured down his throat. we found out that the guys who lived there were having a bbq that morning. they were older guys who apparently loved doing this kinda shit for everybody and all their friends, especially during the fest. theres a joke here in florida that gainesville is where all the punk rock and hardcore kids from florida go to die. it seems to have some sorta truth behind it. we rubbed the sleep out of our eyes and made some phone calls and headed over to the house. there were already a ton of people there, cow burgers and boca burgers were being grilled and the keg was already tapped. it was about 10am and it was already a typically nice sunny day. there were easily 100 people hanging out as time went on and everyone was laughing and talking and drinking away their hangovers. vans and trailers lined the street and bikes lined the fences all chained up. i sat on the porch and smoked joints and bullshitted with a few guys from outta town.
i walked back into the yard and a few guys had set up sleeping bag sumo wrestling. two people put sleeping bags over their heads/body, get spun around, and go at it. needless to say it was amusing watching everyone drunk fall all over the place. my friend i was there with ended up in the bushes at one point and everyone was doubled over laughing. then i struck up a conversation with a kid there, he had been getting a lot of stares. he knew, but he clearly didn't give a fuck.
when you see a person like this you automatically want to know their story, where their from, what they do. but its a thin line to walk and asking the wrong question can turn a conversation sour quick. he was dressed in black jeans and a black cut off t-shirt and had shoes that were torn. his dark hair was greasy and unkempt and his face was scarred with acne. in a statement of irony, or hilarity, or something of that sort, he wore a large fake gold necklace around his neck and had a matching watch on his wrist that had a spinner rim on it. but that wasn't what the attention grabber was oddly enough. it was his arms that were entirely covered in scars. he was a cutter, a heavy one, and didn't give a fuck who knew. i wondered about the rest of his body.
i used the watch as my scapegoat and asked him if i could snap a photo. he laughed and said sure. all i had with me was my action sampler that had a broken viewfinder, so i didnt get the watch, but i still got what i wanted. the added touch of half a whiskey bottle laying in the grass tells you exactly what the weekend was like. but these sort of situations always provide and ethical battle in your head. however i had drunk enough that i didn't think much of it, i've met kids way more fucked up than he was anyways. i struck up a conversation with him. i wanna say his name was darren or darick or something along those lines but i honestly can't remember. alcohol and names don't mix. he was only 17 years old and he was homeless, a train hopper. he had come here from out west with a couple others and was having an awesome time, said he liked florida.
i left the conversation at that and told him he should go to such and such show later on and hangout. i went back to drinking, to talking, to bein' a stupid kid. i couldn't help but wonder how a kid that young could end up in his situation so early on, but some kids fall through the cracks. and it's all too evident that those cracks are turning into crevices and a lot more people are falling through. i was jealous of his travels, the things i'm sure he has seen that i never have and maybe never will. but i was thankful for what i did have.
there are a million more stories i could tell from that weekend, but that kid i'll never forget. this is still one of the first photos anyone ever asks me about. he had his problems, but so do you and i. and in that short conversation he sounded like the most content kid ever. and i guess thats all that matters.
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