Futureproof by N Frank Daniels Page A

Trizden the Animal Mother has learned.
    Since the beginning of time Triz has professed a love for Nirvana. He’s had Bleach since it first came out. He had tickets to see them at the Masquerade when they weren’t shit. He didn’t get to go, he says, because he had the flu that night. But now they are here again, they are in Atlanta at the Omni, where the Hawks play. He has given me a ticket to see them for Christmas. Splinter is going with us. All three of us have general admission tickets, so there are no seats. We will be able to mingle freely in the pit, a roiling mass of bodies moved by music.
    For the concert Splinter and I have obtained an eighth ounce of coke, an eight-ball, in the parlance of our times, and are planning to snort the whole thing before and during Nirvana’s performance. We’re gonna cut a few lines in the parking deck outside the venue and the rest we’ll put in a couple of snuff inhalers (known in thesecircles as “bullets”) so that we can stay geeked up during the show.
    Trizden doesn’t want to have anything to do with the shit. He doesn’t take to drugs too keenly now. He says they’re for losers, as though he has room to talk. Splinter and I have been dabbling in cocaine recently and Trizden thinks we’re pathetic wasteoids because of this. But after the last Acid trip I had, I’m all about trying new shit. I can’t keep this tripping bullshit up when it’s making me want to blow people’s brains all over the living room wall.
    Animal Mother leaves us to our own devices in the parking deck and says he’ll meet us on the right side of the stage. Splinter and I snort three fat lines each. By the time we get situated and climb out of the car we’re soaring, smoking cigarettes like they’re air. I pull the bullet out of my pocket and admire the vial at the bottom, filled to the brim with white powder. This is going to be a great night. “All signs point to this being a great night,” I say.
    By the time Nirvana takes the stage after the two opening acts I am completely fucking gone. I’ve been snorting coke out of the bullet for an hour and a half. Splinter and Trizden and I stood in front of the stage through the first bands’ sets as well as another half hour of bullshit standing around and geeking and smoking cigarettes and waiting before Kurt and company finally took the stage. The set decoration is incredible. There is an angel placed right in the middle, the same one that’s on the In Utero album cover. At times Kurt stands in front of it wailing on his guitar and he appears to have wings. He is a fucking rock god .
    The pit is a mess, there are kids flying everywhere, a boiling cauldron of teen angst and aggression. I periodically duck down and snort two or three bumps of cocaine out of the bullet, stand up reinvigorated and throw my body carelessly into the fray. They tear through all the classics, “School,” “In Bloom,” “Lithium,” “Drain You,” “Milk It.” And then I run into Sharon.
    Sharon is Trizden’s latest underage girlfriend. She is a redhead, cute as a fucking button, great fucking tits, and not even out of tenth grade yet. We stay close throughout the arrhythmic moshing and Kurt is screaming his goddam brains out and then we’re kissing and all over each other, smothering in sweat and catching each other’s breaths. The guitars are shrill and visceral, the drumming is tribal and banging harder than hell. Sharon snorts a bump of coke from my bullet and then we are practically screwing right there in the pit. I’ve got my hand under her shirt and she’s grinding herself against me and this is the best fucking show I’ve ever been to. This is rapture.
    Then Kurt stops the show right in the middle of “On a Plain” and says that he saw that, he saw that fucking guy feel that girl’s tits as she was crowd