I sucked as a 15-year-old. I don't mind telling you. Just sucked. On we, in curiosity, listlessness,

self-loathing, poisonous self-regard, excessive flannel, teenage angst that didn't pay shit,

slouching, moping, pointless yearning, toxic daydreaming, just a pain in the ass, didn't take drugs, didn't even drink.

And yet, sluggish, lazy, stupid, and unconcerned, thought I was the hero.

At least thought I was the protagonist.

I was mistaken.

Though maybe I'm overstating it. Everyone sucks as a 15-year-old, right? Right?

I have affection still for sucky 15-year-old me. Of course I would. Slouched right down to the floor of my

suburban Midwestern bedroom, moping, oblivious to so much of my good fortune, zoning out there in the mid-90s to my

almighty alternative rock radio, leaking out of a little cassette player boombox, invigorated by

every new song that assured me that everyone else sucked, not me, the world sucked, not me.

I'm not a vampire, the world is a vampire. I didn't leave you here. The world has turned and left me here. I'd rather die than give you control. I want to love somebody. I hear you need somebody to love. Here I am now. Entertain me. What am I doing there? Sitting on my bedroom floor bedroom floor what do i want i'll tell you what

i want specifically i've got a blank tape in the cassette deck and i've been listening to

alternative rock radio for two hours 107.9 the end out of cleveland used to be an 80s pop

station or whatever they played the cure a lot but then they rebranded as an alternative rock

station as The End in 1992 and still play The Cure a lot, but they announced this format change,

this transformation by playing REMs, it's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine

on a loop for 24 hours straight. Great radio gag. I listened

along just to that song on the radio, on that loop for hours. I was so excited. I loved that station.

I proudly let that station define sucky 15-year-old me. That radio station was my whole identity.

So now, this particular night, two straight hours I've been listening to the end.

And when each new song starts, my index and middle fingers are hovering over the record and play buttons of the tape player, because what I want, what I'm waiting to hear,

...