My boyfriend Bryn and I were going to a party, but first we went to a café in Canterbury, where we met some other people who were going. There was a goth girl of about my age there, who said, “Don’t you feel that goth is the only genre of music that you can make friends through? It doesn’t work with indie kids.”
“Yes,” I said. “I was into indie for about two years, but during that time, I didn’t really meet anyone like-minded. But since I’ve turned goth, I’ve become friends with a lot of people like me.”
We all started walking towards the apartment where the party would be held. She and I carried on talking. At first I was a bit intimidated by her, but we started to get along better.
When we reached the apartment, very few other people were there, but there was a boy wearing what initially looked like a smiley Nirvana shirt. Since I suffer from The Curse Of The Smiley Nirvana Shirts (whenever I wear mine, I encounter someone else wearing one), I dashed over to him and started telling him about it. Then I noticed that his shirt didn’t really look like a Nirvana shirt at all. It had a few words scrawled at the top, which I couldn’t quite make out. “What sort of shirt is that?” I asked.
“A Sleater Kinney shirt,” he said.
No one else turned up at the apartment, so we all went to a chip shop which Bryn’s friends Vicky and Harvey ran. Outside it, I somehow got separated from the rest of the group – they’d all gone inside, and I was still on the street. I opened the door, and found myself in a large darkened room. About a hundred people were sitting at long desks, eating, in silence. Since I couldn’t see anyone’s face, I stayed where I was, but soon the others emerged from the darkness.
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