Boise, ID:
When I see hightops I think of Paul who died when we were teenagers when we were really into cliff jumping and all of us punks churning with creativity.
I taste Doritos and espresso.
I hear Throbbing Gristle and the Bauhaus.
I smell 2-stroke engines, the coop, gun powder and thrift stores.
I see 13th street, sketchbooks, trees, empty buildings and dirty busboy aprons with chipped nail polish.
And I feel proud of us kids who burst the bubbles and skanked about like little rat packs.
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