Post by Hejin on Jul 21, 2011 20:09:34 GMT -5
I don't want to go into an essay, but this story is basically an idea I've been working on for the last two years. I've built and rebuilt it time and time again, changing the characters, the rules to the universe, and countless other things. Here's an excerpt of the story I'm working on! It's 2,000+ words, so be warned. Thanks for all and any feedback.
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CD ONE: PLAYING: TRACK ONE
As a speck in the sheer, unreserved blackness of the universe, most might think the cosmos a terrifying place. When, in reality, it can be awe-inspiring and beautiful. Each star is merely a pinpoint in the dark canvas of the sky within the billions of galaxies swirling through space.
Though one could not say if such an infinite entity could display emotion, the universe was at peace for now. It spun in its familiar pattern, propelled by the endless force that had always kept it going. In its tranquility, the universe produced a rare gift. A wonderful noise tumbled forth from the furthest confines of the blackness. Twirling, dancing, the noise traveled through the stars unhindered, unflinching as it proceeded to fill the void to which it had been released.
And then, silence reigned. Slender hands lifted the metal needle that had been the driving force of the sweet noise, ending the lovely daydream. The black universe was simply a vintage record, unable to actually produce sound if not placed upon a gramophone and subjected to the machine’s metal needle. The noise was nothing more than a young boy’s favorite music. And he did not much appreciate having it silenced.
“Hey! I was listening to that!” he exclaimed. Despite his protest, silence remained. The owner of the slender hands which had removed the gramophone needle simply crossed her arms and glared down at him.
“You were, huh? I was under the impression you were sleeping. I was also under the impression that you were supposed to buy groceries. Over an hour ago.” she told him, leaving the boy in an unfavorable position as he sank farther into the musty couch. An hour ago, his sister had given him the task to buy groceries. An hour ago, he had fallen asleep to music.
He smiled nervously. “Ah, I guess it slipped my mind.” His older sister let out a long, slow exhale through her nostrils. She was clearly not in the mood for her brother’s excuses. Without a second thought, she flipped the gramophone record over, nestling it between her middle and index finger.
“Everything slips your mind, Mike. You can have this back when you start remembering your chores.” she said. Her brother groaned without reserve and sank ever further into the couch. Michael Jason Kay was his name. Sixteen years old, with a full head of hair and a mind still enamored with the 1970's, he wondered how many other teens his age had to deal with a sister like Colleen. Rolling over on the couch and burying his face into the worn fabric, Michael sometimes wished he could just go to sleep and wake up in some other place.
And that somewhere definitely didn't include Colleen. That place had excitement. It had uniqueness. It had style. But most importantly, it would have the thing that Michael loved more than anything else in the world.
It would have music. And it would have music forever.
Kareem El-Amrani Presents
The Music Masters: Audio Generation
“You see that? Now that's how you do a grind! So don't start lecturing me when you're out there falling on your ass trying to do one!”
It was roughly four o'clock in the afternoon and just another run-of-the-mill day at the Dust Bowl. The place had been built in 1986, and then closed down in 2002 after the owner had “come to his senses” and given up on the old park.
Now, from aging bleachers, three teens watched as one skater in particular gained dominance over the others. Behind them, New York’s skyscrapers loomed over the boys’ charming neighborhood in the middle of Jackson Heights.
“Aw, what's so hard about that? I could do it with my eyes closed. Man, I don't know what the hell is up with everyone around here. What's so scary about her? She’s just another poser,” one of the teens remarked snidely in a nasally tone. One of his friends shook his head in response as he watched the other skaters.
“You're new here, Bobby,” he reminded his friend. “You don't know who that is. That's Kimberley Ramone. She's the best skater around here. If she’s not, she’d beat you to a pulp to make you believe she is.” Bobby smirked as he adjusted his glasses.
“Kimberley Ramone?” he repeated curiously. “I remember her name now. She broke Jared's nose last week, right?”
Bobby's friend Armand laughed and remarked, “After what he said to her, I'm surprised she didn't break anything else. Dude should count himself lucky his junk’s still intact. And I'll just give you a heads up. Don’t ever call her Kimberly. She’ll kill you if you call her that to her face.”
“Then it's Kim, I'm guessing?” Bobby asked. Armand nodded.
“If you want to keep yourself out of the hospital, Kim it is.”
From behind Bobby and Armand, the third teen craned his neck for a better view of Kim. He smiled stupidly as he scanned Kim's more personal parts while she did a back flip on her skateboard. “You can't blame Jared for trying, Armand. She's pretty hot for a crazy bitch.”
“Go ahead and tell her that. I'll record it and it'll get the front page on YouTube. We'll call it ‘Darren Gets Demolished,’ ” Armand shot, backing up his sarcasm with seriousness. Darren sat back down, discouraged from ogling Kim.
“I'm good, man,” he replied. “My internet fame can wait.” He slumped forward behind his friends for a more comfortable view.
Bobby had heard enough. He stood up, taking his board with him. “You guys don't know what the hell you're talking about. So she punched a kid in the face? Big deal! I could take her on my board any day. Just watch me!”
As Bobby strutted off towards the skate bowl, Armand shook his head again, t’sking in disappointment. He propped his feet up on the bleachers before him and leaned back. He knew exactly what was about to happen.
“Yeah, we’ll watch, Bobby,” he murmured once the other teen was out of earshot. “Don’t mean it’s gonna be pretty . . .”
Bobby stopped at the rim of the skate bowl, wondering where Kim had gone. As he peered down into the bowl, he barely had enough time to lunge back as Kim came in from his left, her board creating sparks as she tore up the rim. It took a few seconds for Bobby to regain his composure as Kim dismounted the rim and performed a kick-flip onto the nearby asphalt.
Kim Ramone wasn't the most unique sight around, but her expression always made her look at least a little menacing. Her brown hair was wild, dyed violet at the tips, and nearly reached her shoulders. As she stormed towards Bobby, her black combat boots stomped into the asphalt so hard they nearly left footprints. She wore white pinstripe pants, and her dark purple shirt had ripped at the collar and sleeves, the front of it printed with the image of a Mohawk-wearing skull. Onto her bright orange belt, she’d pinned a distorted smiley face button. Bobby was sure he could read “poser” written all over Kim's person, but he had to admit the look she gave him was nothing to laugh about. Her fierce green eyes were made more intense by heavy black eyeliner, and her lips, painted a toxic green, were twisted into a scowl that could kill a rattlesnake.
Still, Bobby's pride got the best of him as he prepared to challenge Kim. He would not look like a wuss. Not on his first day here and especially not in front of Armand and Darren.
“Hey Ramone!” he shouted. “You skate like my mom! You’re not so tough!” He wasn't dense enough to think that any of what he was saying was true; he just hoped Kim wasn’t tough enough to return the challenge.
Kim said nothing, but for her, talking wasn't usually necessary. She gave Bobby a glare that made his skin crawl, her eyes filled with aggression. He was almost mesmerized for a brief second, until he managed to break through Kim's glare and regain his composure once again.
“Take some notes, Ramone. Class is about to be in session.” Bobby said in a sly voice, but back at the bleachers Armand just sighed in resignation. Kim's expression remained in the same snake-murdering scowl as Bobby got onto his board and started to grind on the rim. He made a quick turnaround, followed by a dive down into the bowl before he came up to the rim again. Grinding up and around until he reached Kim, Bobby ended with an Ollie and dismounted his board with a huge smile of satisfaction.
Kim said nothing as she gave the boy exactly what he had coming. Mounting her board, she sped right past, knocking him over and causing his board to slip out from beneath him. She ripped down the bowl with unbelievable speed, performing an Invert when she reached the rim on the other side. Her nasty glare did not leave her face even as she turned around, cleared the rim, and sailed right over Bobby's head. Landing a few feet away, she flipped her board with one foot and caught it under her arm.
She looked down at Bobby in silence, and the boy felt small once again. She hadn't said a single word, but her very presence was enough. Kim looked just plain angry, but whether she was angry with Bobby or the whole world one couldn’t tell. Swallowing hard, Bobby did not let go of his pride and would come to regret his next words.
“Heh, that was still weak, Kimberley,” he taunted. Obviously, he hadn't completely thought out those words. On the bleachers, Armand dropped his head back with a groan at Bobby’s stupidity. Darren grinned widely and leaned forward for a better view.
One second passed before Kim’s real anger flared. Three seconds after the words had escaped his lips, Bobby found himself face-to-face with Kim Ramone. But this wasn't the Kim Ramone he had heard of, the one who didn’t seem so scary.
No, this was the real Kim Ramone. She held his shirt in a vice-like grip; his feet could not reach the ground anymore. Her venomous glare cut holes into him, and Bobby thought he could see sharp fangs in her mouth as she curled her upper lip in contempt. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he felt his pride quickly diminish.
“You're new here, aren't you?” Kim growled icily, not waiting for an answer. “I'll be honest with you. I don't like new guys. They take up too much space.” Her words chilled Bobby right to the bone.
“I get rid of things that take too much space,” she went on. “They get disposed. You know what that means. Don’t you?” Bobby nodded rapidly. Her scowl became a smile that would break ten mirrors. He almost wished she would go back to scowling.
“Good to know we're on the same page,” she remarked, releasing her grip on him. He dropped to the ground and landed heavily on his stomach. Reaching out his arms to begin crawling towards his board, Bobby yelped as Kim’s heavy boot slammed against his back, pinning him down. Armand and Darren were both horrified at the sight as Kim continued. “Here's the deal, new guy. I’ll let you keep boarding here, but this is your first warning.”
She leaned down hard, pressing her boot deeper into Bobby's back. He gasped as salty tears spilled down his cheeks. His friends would never let him live this down; suddenly he was glad Armand hadn’t brought anything to record this.
“And I ever hear you address me like that again,” Kim yelled, her voice grating in his ears. “I’ll break so many of your teeth, you’ll have to eat through a straw. You got that?!”
“Y-y-yeah, sure, I got it loud and clear, Kim,” Bobby whimpered brokenly.
“Good,” she snapped. “Now run along before I decide to make that bruise worse.” No sooner had she lifted her boot than Bobby scampered off like a rat towards the safety of the bleachers. His back felt like it had been burned with a hot iron, but his desire to get away from Kim allowed him to make it through the pain. Scooping his board up as he ran, Bobby could tell by the look on Armand’s face that his friend had been right about everything.
This was nothing new for Kim. Everyone once in awhile, some stupid kid would try to show her up. Some embarrassed themselves, some ran off crying like babies, and in rare cases, some would really piss her off. Bobby had just made a fool of himself with all three, but to Kim, it was business as usual.
The next time he saw Kim, he would think twice before stepping out of line. Bobby really didn’t know just how angry she could be. With the right music, her fury was beyond the idiot’s comprehension . . .
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“Man, is today really the day? Why can't I just go and party like it's 1979?”
Michael looked up from his bed at the calendar posted on his wall. The date for today: August 31st, 2011. He sighed before closing his eyes.
“That's because it's not 1979. It's 2011. Maaaaaaaan!” Michael whined. No matter what Michael thought, the facts weren't going to change. The last day of summer vacation had arrived, and there was no discotheque for him to attend in an effort to dance his last summer night away. Sophomore year was just around the corner, and with it came the same thing. Homework and lectures, two things Michael definitely didn't want on his plate.
Standing up from his bed, Michael Kay inspected his calendar again, his mind stupidly hoping it was somehow wrong. Michael stood a good six feet in height, with part of that height being made up of his large black afro. Michael had been growing it the same way for the last ten years. He'd get a haircut after it grew past ten inches, and he'd get it cut no shorter than nine. Michael took great pride in his hair, mainly because it reminded him of Rob.
Then again, so did Michael's favorite t-shirt; a tie dye shirt printed with the picture of a Grey alien. In fact, his red Adidas sneakers reminded him of Rob too, and so did his ripped blue jeans. And one couldn't forget all of the old records Michael still listened to, the ones that once belonged to Rob. There was everything from ABBA to The Whispers in that vinyl collection, and it would be a lie to say that each song on each record didn't remind Michael of his uncle Rob in some way, shape or form.
But Rob was gone. At least, that's what Colleen kept saying. Robert Kay, along with his prized bass guitar, had both disappeared when Michael was only six. Michael had only just appreciated Rob's music, the old classics of the 1970's, before he disappeared. After Rob was out of of the picture, Michael began to idolize it.
And after all these years, Michael still had that glimmer of hope inside him, the one that believed Rob would one day come home. Colleen had given up on Rob, had called him a good for nothing and a coward, but Michael would never do those things. Rob was one of the only things that Michael's oblivious mind would never let go without a fight.
But until Rob returned, Michael had other things to deal with. Tomorrow, school became a problem in his life once again. He would be forced to exert himself and pay attention. Michael hated paying attention. If the world would just let him daydream all day long, and listen to music, he could do that for the rest of his life.
But it wasn't all bad. Humming to himself, Michael spun around on one foot and managed to moonwalk in his socks across his carpeted floor. Stopping in front of his dresser, he pivoted his arm in the imitation of a robot and pulled up a small item that looked like a plastic jukebox. Shaking it, Michael smiled. Inside was close to one hundred fifty dollars, and it was all the money Michael had saved throughout the summer from the meager allowance his sister gave him. With it, he planned on buying a used I-Pod Touch he had been eying in a local pawn shop. And once that I-Pod was in his possession, Michael was going to find a good use for all the music he had secretly downloaded on his sister's computer over the summer.
He'd finally have a portable jukebox that Colleen couldn't just take away whenever he forget to do something. Just that thought alone would make the first day of school just a little more bearable. Michael grinned as he marked the calendar, knowing that tomorrow was going to be his best day in a very, very long time.
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“Man, is today really the day? Why can't I just party like it's 1979?”
Michael looked up from his bed at the calendar posted on his wall. The date for today: August 31st, 2011. Closing his eyes, he let out a dramatic sigh.
“That's because it's not 1979. It's 2011. Maaaaaaaan!” he whined. No matter what he thought, the calendar was no liar. The last day of summer vacation had arrived, and there was no discotheque for him to attend in an effort to dance his last summer night away. Sophomore year was just around the corner, and with it came the same thing: homework and lectures; two things Michael did not look forward to.
Standing up from his bed, Michael Kay inspected his calendar again, stupidly hoping it was somehow wrong. He stood a good six feet in height, with part of that height made up of his large black afro. He had been growing it the same way for the last ten years. He'd get a haircut after it grew past ten inches, and he'd get it cut no shorter than nine. He took great pride in his hair, mainly because it reminded him of Uncle Rob.
Then again, so did Michael's favorite t-shirt; a tie dye shirt printed with the picture of a Grey alien. In fact, his red Adidas sneakers reminded him of Rob too, and so did his ripped blue jeans. And one couldn't forget all of the old records he still listened to; those once belonged to Rob. There was everything from ABBA to The Whispers in that vinyl collection. Each and every song on each and every album reminded Michael of Rob in some way.
But Rob was gone. At least, that's what Colleen said. Robert Kay, along with his prized bass guitar, had disappeared when Michael was only six. Michael had only just appreciated his uncle’s music, the old classics of the 1970's, before he disappeared. After Rob was out of the picture, Michael had begun to idolize it.
And after all these years, he still had the gnawing hope, no matter how small, that one day Rob would come back. Colleen had given up on their uncle, had called him good for nothing and a coward, but Michael would never give up. Rob was one of the only things that Michael's oblivious mind would never let go without a fight.
But until Rob returned, Michael had other things to deal with. Tomorrow, school became a problem in his life once again. He would be forced to, heaven forbid, pay attention. Michael hated paying attention. If life would just let him daydream all day long, and listen to music, he wouldn’t hate life so much right now.
But it wasn't all bad. Michael began to hum to himself as he pivoted and moon-walked across the carpet. Stopping in front of his dresser, he rotated his arm like a robot and pulled up a small, plastic jukebox. Shaking it, he smiled. Inside was close to one hundred fifty dollars, all the money he’d saved throughout the summer from the meager allowance his sister gave him. With it, he planned to buy a used iPod Touch he had been eying in a local pawn shop. Once the coveted iPod was in his possession, he would finally have a good use for all the music he had secretly downloaded on his sister's computer over the summer.
He'd finally have a portable jukebox that Colleen couldn't just take away whenever he forgot about his chores. Just that thought alone would make the first day of school that much more bearable. The afro-headed teen grinned as he marked the calendar, his outlook on the first day of school changed drastically in anticipation.
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For once, Michael felt awake. Twiddling his thumbs nervously, he watched the clock. His stupid desk was much too confining. He wanted to jump right out of it and sprint out of the school building. He desperately wanted the last bell to ring, already.
Too bad first period hadn’t even started. Michael had been sitting in the classroom for five minutes, and first period wouldn’t start for another ten. It would be awhile, approximately eight hours, until he could escape. He was only slightly oblivious to the fact.
So Michael waited, and his mind drifted elsewhere. As the minutes passed, students began to file into the room, their chatter loud enough to wake the dead. Michael paid them no attention however, his mind having already entered a place beyond time and space that no one could reach. As class started and the teacher began calling attendance, Michael had settled back in his seat, imagining his new I-Pod and all the great music he would download to it.
Another five minutes, and he was still somewhere else. Only one thing brought him back to reality, or, more accurately, one person. Her demeanor was dark, contemptuous, and uncaring as her black combat boots bruised the wooden floor with her every step. She took the only seat available, and it happened to be right next to Michael in the very front row.
He noticed her punk rock style, but he didn't think too much of it. To him, the culture and music she liked were way too loud and angry. He did his best to ignore the girl and turned his attention to the teacher just before his name was called.
“Is Mr. Michael . . . Kay here with us today?” the plump history teacher, Mr. Regal, asked. Michael raised his hand and waved energetically. The late arrival next to him got her first impression and immediately branded him as a complete imbecile.
“I'm here!” Michael exclaimed. In the back rows, a couple of students snickered. The punk rock girl wondered just how small of a brain this idiot was running on.
“Good to see enthusiasm . . .” Mr. Regal remarked unenthusiastically, keeping his eyes on the roster. As usual, Michael didn't catch on. He had never been good with sarcasm, and he just drifted off again as Mr. Regal continued calling out names. It was quite by coincidence that the afro-headed teen’s mind checked back in to the classroom just as Mr. Regal called out one particular name.
“Is a Miss Kimberley . . . Ramone, in attendance?” the teacher said. “Did I say that right?” Mr. Regal looked right down at the late arrival sitting next to Michael. She just glared back at the man, her voice seething with irritation.
“I'm here, and you said it completely wrong. It's Kim.” she snapped. Mr. Regal checked the roster again, raising an eyebrow.
“I'm pretty sure it says ‘Kimberley’ here. Would you like to see for yourself?”
“I don't give a damn what it says.” Kim hissed. “Either you call me Kim or I go waste my time somewhere else.” Michael couldn't help but be as interested in this conversation as the rest of the class. Mr. Regal was taken aback by the girl’s rudeness, but he kept a straight face as he wrote a note on a slip of paper and handed it to Kim.
“Alright then, Miss Kim,” he said with a barely-concealed sneer. “You can bring your mouth to detention after school. Hopefully they’ll pronounce your name correctly.” The teacher turned back to the roll call list as if nothing had happened. While his back was turned, Kim growled under her breath and crushed the note slip in her hand, tossing it in Michael’s direction. The paper wad landed right in his afro.
“Hey! Watch the hair, will ya?” he protested, but Kim didn’t respond. She already had her headphones in, indifferent to her surroundings. He could hear her music from where he sat; she probably just didn’t hear him. Picking the crushed note slip out of his hair, he turned his attention back to Mr. Regal, who was nearly finished with attendance.
Right then, Michael made a mental note: stay away from Kim. Whatever her problem was, well, he wouldn’t stick around to find out what it was. Today was going to be great, and he didn’t need her bad attitude mucking up his good mood.
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This was it, the moment Michael had waited for all summer. With one little device, he would eventually have access to everything he loved, his music.
Michael smiled upon hearing the sweet opening lyric of Jamiroquai's “Canned Heat.” It was the only song on his recently bought iPod Touch, but it was way better than nothing. The afro-headed teen was cheap. Every time he went on a coffee run for Colleen, he'd grab one of those cards that allowed one to redeem a free song on iTunes. He had about ten or so stacked up back in his room, and the one he'd found in his back pocket that had given him access to “Canned Heat.” All it took was a little Wi-Fi borrowing, and he was officially in business.
He sang the song aloud as he walked home from the first day of school. Thankfully, the day had gone much quicker than expected. For a moment, he wondered how. Shrugging to himself, he guessed his longing for his new iPod had caused time to speed up. Yup, that was it.
About a minute or so into the song, he came across a familiar landmark, the Dust Bowl, an old abandoned skate park. Since he wasn’t exactly a skater, he’d never taken much interest in the place before. He glanced at the park once, but proceeded on his way.
However, something caught his attention. A familiar voice broke through the music in his ears. He stopped, trying to find the speaker as he peered through the chain link fence. Unable to see anything at that vantage point, he grabbed onto the fence with one hand and hoisted himself up higher. Finally, he saw her.
Some distance away, Kim Ramone was brutally menacing some poor kid. Michael could barely hear her words, but he caught something along the lines of “steal,” “my board,” and “last mistake.” Kim held the boy up by the collar, and one of her fists was aimed at his face. Michael squinted in the sunlight, but his concentration was no longer on Kim.
This whole time, he’d focused on his music, daydreaming to the lyrics. He imagined tropical weather and dancing. He imagined a warm summer sun on his skin, wishing the cold fall season would change back to summer. The sun in his imagination was warmer than even he could have imagined. In fact, it was so warm he could almost feel it. Soon enough, he really did feel the warmth . . . and it was coming from his right hand. He looked down and gasped.
Something had happened to his hand, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. Red-orange light emanated from his hand, and it pulsed rhythmically. But the light wasn’t what had shocked him.
From what he could discern, the light around his hand had just melted a hole through the chain-link fence. Gloppy bits of steel wire dripped onto the asphalt. His hand had created a hole in the fence the size of a baseball glove. He did a double take, blinked twice, and stared at his hand again. The red-orange light still pulsed around it. Had he just gone insane? Or was this the coolest thing to ever happen to him?
Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of time to decide. Glancing back up at Kim, he froze in fear as she suddenly sent an extremely venomous glare in his direction. The boy she was about to pound backed away like a confused crab, but Kim had lost interest. Her icy glare was on Michael. Not even he was dense enough to think she hadn’t seen the whole thing.
He didn't think about what to do next. Breaking free from Kim’s glare, he spun around and made a run for it. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was running, but he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He didn’t know what he was more scared of: Kim or the burning light around his hand. Either way, he was freaked out. And he did not want to stick around to see this day get worse.
Once Michael had disappeared from sight, Kim became less angry and more serious. Well, she became seriously annoyed, anyway. The kid who had tried to steal her skateboard was gone now. He'd gotten lucky, but he wasn't a problem anymore. She had a bigger problem on her hands now, and she had sincerely hoped she’d never have to deal with it. But to her extreme irritation, the dreaded dilemma had arrived.
Kim wasn't the only Music Master in the neighborhood, anymore.
“Figures,” she growled under her breath, to no one in particular. “When boys become Music Masters, they just have to be the biggest morons on the block, don't they?”
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“Now that . . . was a workout . . .” Michael panted, leaning his hands on his knees. His chest was painfully tight, and his legs were screaming. Fifteen blocks of straight running was no easy task, even for someone with a dancer's body. But he could not have stayed at the skate park, especially after he saw that look on Kim’s face. She'd seen everything. She knew. Now the only question was; did she know more than he did? He made a mental note to remember to ask her that, overriding his previous mental note to stay away from her.
Though he was a little hesitant to at first, he checked his hand again. The burning light was gone. A wave of relief hit him, but after it came another wave of curiosity and wonder.
What was that exactly? He had no idea. But his uncle had once told him all great men should ask questions. And plenty of questions surged through the teen’s mind. “Canned Heat” had finished playing in his ears sometime during his frantic sprinting, but the song was the last thing on his mind.
He placed his hand against his face. It was still a little warm. At least, it was warmer than usual. His stomach twisted into a knot when he remembered the orange light. It was bizarre and unsettling . . . but also exciting; from the point where he had figured out his hand was burning a hole through the fence to the point where Kim was glaring him down.
He smiled. If only Rob had been there to see it, he thought. Straightening himself, the teen entered his building with his good mood rejuvenated. So what if summer was over?
At this point, he began to think his new iPod Touch was no longer the highlight of the day. With a wide smile, he realized everything he thought he knew about the world had just gone right down the drain.
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CD ONE: PLAYING: TRACK ONE
As a speck in the sheer, unreserved blackness of the universe, most might think the cosmos a terrifying place. When, in reality, it can be awe-inspiring and beautiful. Each star is merely a pinpoint in the dark canvas of the sky within the billions of galaxies swirling through space.
Though one could not say if such an infinite entity could display emotion, the universe was at peace for now. It spun in its familiar pattern, propelled by the endless force that had always kept it going. In its tranquility, the universe produced a rare gift. A wonderful noise tumbled forth from the furthest confines of the blackness. Twirling, dancing, the noise traveled through the stars unhindered, unflinching as it proceeded to fill the void to which it had been released.
And then, silence reigned. Slender hands lifted the metal needle that had been the driving force of the sweet noise, ending the lovely daydream. The black universe was simply a vintage record, unable to actually produce sound if not placed upon a gramophone and subjected to the machine’s metal needle. The noise was nothing more than a young boy’s favorite music. And he did not much appreciate having it silenced.
“Hey! I was listening to that!” he exclaimed. Despite his protest, silence remained. The owner of the slender hands which had removed the gramophone needle simply crossed her arms and glared down at him.
“You were, huh? I was under the impression you were sleeping. I was also under the impression that you were supposed to buy groceries. Over an hour ago.” she told him, leaving the boy in an unfavorable position as he sank farther into the musty couch. An hour ago, his sister had given him the task to buy groceries. An hour ago, he had fallen asleep to music.
He smiled nervously. “Ah, I guess it slipped my mind.” His older sister let out a long, slow exhale through her nostrils. She was clearly not in the mood for her brother’s excuses. Without a second thought, she flipped the gramophone record over, nestling it between her middle and index finger.
“Everything slips your mind, Mike. You can have this back when you start remembering your chores.” she said. Her brother groaned without reserve and sank ever further into the couch. Michael Jason Kay was his name. Sixteen years old, with a full head of hair and a mind still enamored with the 1970's, he wondered how many other teens his age had to deal with a sister like Colleen. Rolling over on the couch and burying his face into the worn fabric, Michael sometimes wished he could just go to sleep and wake up in some other place.
And that somewhere definitely didn't include Colleen. That place had excitement. It had uniqueness. It had style. But most importantly, it would have the thing that Michael loved more than anything else in the world.
It would have music. And it would have music forever.
Kareem El-Amrani Presents
The Music Masters: Audio Generation
“You see that? Now that's how you do a grind! So don't start lecturing me when you're out there falling on your ass trying to do one!”
It was roughly four o'clock in the afternoon and just another run-of-the-mill day at the Dust Bowl. The place had been built in 1986, and then closed down in 2002 after the owner had “come to his senses” and given up on the old park.
Now, from aging bleachers, three teens watched as one skater in particular gained dominance over the others. Behind them, New York’s skyscrapers loomed over the boys’ charming neighborhood in the middle of Jackson Heights.
“Aw, what's so hard about that? I could do it with my eyes closed. Man, I don't know what the hell is up with everyone around here. What's so scary about her? She’s just another poser,” one of the teens remarked snidely in a nasally tone. One of his friends shook his head in response as he watched the other skaters.
“You're new here, Bobby,” he reminded his friend. “You don't know who that is. That's Kimberley Ramone. She's the best skater around here. If she’s not, she’d beat you to a pulp to make you believe she is.” Bobby smirked as he adjusted his glasses.
“Kimberley Ramone?” he repeated curiously. “I remember her name now. She broke Jared's nose last week, right?”
Bobby's friend Armand laughed and remarked, “After what he said to her, I'm surprised she didn't break anything else. Dude should count himself lucky his junk’s still intact. And I'll just give you a heads up. Don’t ever call her Kimberly. She’ll kill you if you call her that to her face.”
“Then it's Kim, I'm guessing?” Bobby asked. Armand nodded.
“If you want to keep yourself out of the hospital, Kim it is.”
From behind Bobby and Armand, the third teen craned his neck for a better view of Kim. He smiled stupidly as he scanned Kim's more personal parts while she did a back flip on her skateboard. “You can't blame Jared for trying, Armand. She's pretty hot for a crazy bitch.”
“Go ahead and tell her that. I'll record it and it'll get the front page on YouTube. We'll call it ‘Darren Gets Demolished,’ ” Armand shot, backing up his sarcasm with seriousness. Darren sat back down, discouraged from ogling Kim.
“I'm good, man,” he replied. “My internet fame can wait.” He slumped forward behind his friends for a more comfortable view.
Bobby had heard enough. He stood up, taking his board with him. “You guys don't know what the hell you're talking about. So she punched a kid in the face? Big deal! I could take her on my board any day. Just watch me!”
As Bobby strutted off towards the skate bowl, Armand shook his head again, t’sking in disappointment. He propped his feet up on the bleachers before him and leaned back. He knew exactly what was about to happen.
“Yeah, we’ll watch, Bobby,” he murmured once the other teen was out of earshot. “Don’t mean it’s gonna be pretty . . .”
Bobby stopped at the rim of the skate bowl, wondering where Kim had gone. As he peered down into the bowl, he barely had enough time to lunge back as Kim came in from his left, her board creating sparks as she tore up the rim. It took a few seconds for Bobby to regain his composure as Kim dismounted the rim and performed a kick-flip onto the nearby asphalt.
Kim Ramone wasn't the most unique sight around, but her expression always made her look at least a little menacing. Her brown hair was wild, dyed violet at the tips, and nearly reached her shoulders. As she stormed towards Bobby, her black combat boots stomped into the asphalt so hard they nearly left footprints. She wore white pinstripe pants, and her dark purple shirt had ripped at the collar and sleeves, the front of it printed with the image of a Mohawk-wearing skull. Onto her bright orange belt, she’d pinned a distorted smiley face button. Bobby was sure he could read “poser” written all over Kim's person, but he had to admit the look she gave him was nothing to laugh about. Her fierce green eyes were made more intense by heavy black eyeliner, and her lips, painted a toxic green, were twisted into a scowl that could kill a rattlesnake.
Still, Bobby's pride got the best of him as he prepared to challenge Kim. He would not look like a wuss. Not on his first day here and especially not in front of Armand and Darren.
“Hey Ramone!” he shouted. “You skate like my mom! You’re not so tough!” He wasn't dense enough to think that any of what he was saying was true; he just hoped Kim wasn’t tough enough to return the challenge.
Kim said nothing, but for her, talking wasn't usually necessary. She gave Bobby a glare that made his skin crawl, her eyes filled with aggression. He was almost mesmerized for a brief second, until he managed to break through Kim's glare and regain his composure once again.
“Take some notes, Ramone. Class is about to be in session.” Bobby said in a sly voice, but back at the bleachers Armand just sighed in resignation. Kim's expression remained in the same snake-murdering scowl as Bobby got onto his board and started to grind on the rim. He made a quick turnaround, followed by a dive down into the bowl before he came up to the rim again. Grinding up and around until he reached Kim, Bobby ended with an Ollie and dismounted his board with a huge smile of satisfaction.
Kim said nothing as she gave the boy exactly what he had coming. Mounting her board, she sped right past, knocking him over and causing his board to slip out from beneath him. She ripped down the bowl with unbelievable speed, performing an Invert when she reached the rim on the other side. Her nasty glare did not leave her face even as she turned around, cleared the rim, and sailed right over Bobby's head. Landing a few feet away, she flipped her board with one foot and caught it under her arm.
She looked down at Bobby in silence, and the boy felt small once again. She hadn't said a single word, but her very presence was enough. Kim looked just plain angry, but whether she was angry with Bobby or the whole world one couldn’t tell. Swallowing hard, Bobby did not let go of his pride and would come to regret his next words.
“Heh, that was still weak, Kimberley,” he taunted. Obviously, he hadn't completely thought out those words. On the bleachers, Armand dropped his head back with a groan at Bobby’s stupidity. Darren grinned widely and leaned forward for a better view.
One second passed before Kim’s real anger flared. Three seconds after the words had escaped his lips, Bobby found himself face-to-face with Kim Ramone. But this wasn't the Kim Ramone he had heard of, the one who didn’t seem so scary.
No, this was the real Kim Ramone. She held his shirt in a vice-like grip; his feet could not reach the ground anymore. Her venomous glare cut holes into him, and Bobby thought he could see sharp fangs in her mouth as she curled her upper lip in contempt. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he felt his pride quickly diminish.
“You're new here, aren't you?” Kim growled icily, not waiting for an answer. “I'll be honest with you. I don't like new guys. They take up too much space.” Her words chilled Bobby right to the bone.
“I get rid of things that take too much space,” she went on. “They get disposed. You know what that means. Don’t you?” Bobby nodded rapidly. Her scowl became a smile that would break ten mirrors. He almost wished she would go back to scowling.
“Good to know we're on the same page,” she remarked, releasing her grip on him. He dropped to the ground and landed heavily on his stomach. Reaching out his arms to begin crawling towards his board, Bobby yelped as Kim’s heavy boot slammed against his back, pinning him down. Armand and Darren were both horrified at the sight as Kim continued. “Here's the deal, new guy. I’ll let you keep boarding here, but this is your first warning.”
She leaned down hard, pressing her boot deeper into Bobby's back. He gasped as salty tears spilled down his cheeks. His friends would never let him live this down; suddenly he was glad Armand hadn’t brought anything to record this.
“And I ever hear you address me like that again,” Kim yelled, her voice grating in his ears. “I’ll break so many of your teeth, you’ll have to eat through a straw. You got that?!”
“Y-y-yeah, sure, I got it loud and clear, Kim,” Bobby whimpered brokenly.
“Good,” she snapped. “Now run along before I decide to make that bruise worse.” No sooner had she lifted her boot than Bobby scampered off like a rat towards the safety of the bleachers. His back felt like it had been burned with a hot iron, but his desire to get away from Kim allowed him to make it through the pain. Scooping his board up as he ran, Bobby could tell by the look on Armand’s face that his friend had been right about everything.
This was nothing new for Kim. Everyone once in awhile, some stupid kid would try to show her up. Some embarrassed themselves, some ran off crying like babies, and in rare cases, some would really piss her off. Bobby had just made a fool of himself with all three, but to Kim, it was business as usual.
The next time he saw Kim, he would think twice before stepping out of line. Bobby really didn’t know just how angry she could be. With the right music, her fury was beyond the idiot’s comprehension . . .
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“Man, is today really the day? Why can't I just go and party like it's 1979?”
Michael looked up from his bed at the calendar posted on his wall. The date for today: August 31st, 2011. He sighed before closing his eyes.
“That's because it's not 1979. It's 2011. Maaaaaaaan!” Michael whined. No matter what Michael thought, the facts weren't going to change. The last day of summer vacation had arrived, and there was no discotheque for him to attend in an effort to dance his last summer night away. Sophomore year was just around the corner, and with it came the same thing. Homework and lectures, two things Michael definitely didn't want on his plate.
Standing up from his bed, Michael Kay inspected his calendar again, his mind stupidly hoping it was somehow wrong. Michael stood a good six feet in height, with part of that height being made up of his large black afro. Michael had been growing it the same way for the last ten years. He'd get a haircut after it grew past ten inches, and he'd get it cut no shorter than nine. Michael took great pride in his hair, mainly because it reminded him of Rob.
Then again, so did Michael's favorite t-shirt; a tie dye shirt printed with the picture of a Grey alien. In fact, his red Adidas sneakers reminded him of Rob too, and so did his ripped blue jeans. And one couldn't forget all of the old records Michael still listened to, the ones that once belonged to Rob. There was everything from ABBA to The Whispers in that vinyl collection, and it would be a lie to say that each song on each record didn't remind Michael of his uncle Rob in some way, shape or form.
But Rob was gone. At least, that's what Colleen kept saying. Robert Kay, along with his prized bass guitar, had both disappeared when Michael was only six. Michael had only just appreciated Rob's music, the old classics of the 1970's, before he disappeared. After Rob was out of of the picture, Michael began to idolize it.
And after all these years, Michael still had that glimmer of hope inside him, the one that believed Rob would one day come home. Colleen had given up on Rob, had called him a good for nothing and a coward, but Michael would never do those things. Rob was one of the only things that Michael's oblivious mind would never let go without a fight.
But until Rob returned, Michael had other things to deal with. Tomorrow, school became a problem in his life once again. He would be forced to exert himself and pay attention. Michael hated paying attention. If the world would just let him daydream all day long, and listen to music, he could do that for the rest of his life.
But it wasn't all bad. Humming to himself, Michael spun around on one foot and managed to moonwalk in his socks across his carpeted floor. Stopping in front of his dresser, he pivoted his arm in the imitation of a robot and pulled up a small item that looked like a plastic jukebox. Shaking it, Michael smiled. Inside was close to one hundred fifty dollars, and it was all the money Michael had saved throughout the summer from the meager allowance his sister gave him. With it, he planned on buying a used I-Pod Touch he had been eying in a local pawn shop. And once that I-Pod was in his possession, Michael was going to find a good use for all the music he had secretly downloaded on his sister's computer over the summer.
He'd finally have a portable jukebox that Colleen couldn't just take away whenever he forget to do something. Just that thought alone would make the first day of school just a little more bearable. Michael grinned as he marked the calendar, knowing that tomorrow was going to be his best day in a very, very long time.
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“Man, is today really the day? Why can't I just party like it's 1979?”
Michael looked up from his bed at the calendar posted on his wall. The date for today: August 31st, 2011. Closing his eyes, he let out a dramatic sigh.
“That's because it's not 1979. It's 2011. Maaaaaaaan!” he whined. No matter what he thought, the calendar was no liar. The last day of summer vacation had arrived, and there was no discotheque for him to attend in an effort to dance his last summer night away. Sophomore year was just around the corner, and with it came the same thing: homework and lectures; two things Michael did not look forward to.
Standing up from his bed, Michael Kay inspected his calendar again, stupidly hoping it was somehow wrong. He stood a good six feet in height, with part of that height made up of his large black afro. He had been growing it the same way for the last ten years. He'd get a haircut after it grew past ten inches, and he'd get it cut no shorter than nine. He took great pride in his hair, mainly because it reminded him of Uncle Rob.
Then again, so did Michael's favorite t-shirt; a tie dye shirt printed with the picture of a Grey alien. In fact, his red Adidas sneakers reminded him of Rob too, and so did his ripped blue jeans. And one couldn't forget all of the old records he still listened to; those once belonged to Rob. There was everything from ABBA to The Whispers in that vinyl collection. Each and every song on each and every album reminded Michael of Rob in some way.
But Rob was gone. At least, that's what Colleen said. Robert Kay, along with his prized bass guitar, had disappeared when Michael was only six. Michael had only just appreciated his uncle’s music, the old classics of the 1970's, before he disappeared. After Rob was out of the picture, Michael had begun to idolize it.
And after all these years, he still had the gnawing hope, no matter how small, that one day Rob would come back. Colleen had given up on their uncle, had called him good for nothing and a coward, but Michael would never give up. Rob was one of the only things that Michael's oblivious mind would never let go without a fight.
But until Rob returned, Michael had other things to deal with. Tomorrow, school became a problem in his life once again. He would be forced to, heaven forbid, pay attention. Michael hated paying attention. If life would just let him daydream all day long, and listen to music, he wouldn’t hate life so much right now.
But it wasn't all bad. Michael began to hum to himself as he pivoted and moon-walked across the carpet. Stopping in front of his dresser, he rotated his arm like a robot and pulled up a small, plastic jukebox. Shaking it, he smiled. Inside was close to one hundred fifty dollars, all the money he’d saved throughout the summer from the meager allowance his sister gave him. With it, he planned to buy a used iPod Touch he had been eying in a local pawn shop. Once the coveted iPod was in his possession, he would finally have a good use for all the music he had secretly downloaded on his sister's computer over the summer.
He'd finally have a portable jukebox that Colleen couldn't just take away whenever he forgot about his chores. Just that thought alone would make the first day of school that much more bearable. The afro-headed teen grinned as he marked the calendar, his outlook on the first day of school changed drastically in anticipation.
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For once, Michael felt awake. Twiddling his thumbs nervously, he watched the clock. His stupid desk was much too confining. He wanted to jump right out of it and sprint out of the school building. He desperately wanted the last bell to ring, already.
Too bad first period hadn’t even started. Michael had been sitting in the classroom for five minutes, and first period wouldn’t start for another ten. It would be awhile, approximately eight hours, until he could escape. He was only slightly oblivious to the fact.
So Michael waited, and his mind drifted elsewhere. As the minutes passed, students began to file into the room, their chatter loud enough to wake the dead. Michael paid them no attention however, his mind having already entered a place beyond time and space that no one could reach. As class started and the teacher began calling attendance, Michael had settled back in his seat, imagining his new I-Pod and all the great music he would download to it.
Another five minutes, and he was still somewhere else. Only one thing brought him back to reality, or, more accurately, one person. Her demeanor was dark, contemptuous, and uncaring as her black combat boots bruised the wooden floor with her every step. She took the only seat available, and it happened to be right next to Michael in the very front row.
He noticed her punk rock style, but he didn't think too much of it. To him, the culture and music she liked were way too loud and angry. He did his best to ignore the girl and turned his attention to the teacher just before his name was called.
“Is Mr. Michael . . . Kay here with us today?” the plump history teacher, Mr. Regal, asked. Michael raised his hand and waved energetically. The late arrival next to him got her first impression and immediately branded him as a complete imbecile.
“I'm here!” Michael exclaimed. In the back rows, a couple of students snickered. The punk rock girl wondered just how small of a brain this idiot was running on.
“Good to see enthusiasm . . .” Mr. Regal remarked unenthusiastically, keeping his eyes on the roster. As usual, Michael didn't catch on. He had never been good with sarcasm, and he just drifted off again as Mr. Regal continued calling out names. It was quite by coincidence that the afro-headed teen’s mind checked back in to the classroom just as Mr. Regal called out one particular name.
“Is a Miss Kimberley . . . Ramone, in attendance?” the teacher said. “Did I say that right?” Mr. Regal looked right down at the late arrival sitting next to Michael. She just glared back at the man, her voice seething with irritation.
“I'm here, and you said it completely wrong. It's Kim.” she snapped. Mr. Regal checked the roster again, raising an eyebrow.
“I'm pretty sure it says ‘Kimberley’ here. Would you like to see for yourself?”
“I don't give a damn what it says.” Kim hissed. “Either you call me Kim or I go waste my time somewhere else.” Michael couldn't help but be as interested in this conversation as the rest of the class. Mr. Regal was taken aback by the girl’s rudeness, but he kept a straight face as he wrote a note on a slip of paper and handed it to Kim.
“Alright then, Miss Kim,” he said with a barely-concealed sneer. “You can bring your mouth to detention after school. Hopefully they’ll pronounce your name correctly.” The teacher turned back to the roll call list as if nothing had happened. While his back was turned, Kim growled under her breath and crushed the note slip in her hand, tossing it in Michael’s direction. The paper wad landed right in his afro.
“Hey! Watch the hair, will ya?” he protested, but Kim didn’t respond. She already had her headphones in, indifferent to her surroundings. He could hear her music from where he sat; she probably just didn’t hear him. Picking the crushed note slip out of his hair, he turned his attention back to Mr. Regal, who was nearly finished with attendance.
Right then, Michael made a mental note: stay away from Kim. Whatever her problem was, well, he wouldn’t stick around to find out what it was. Today was going to be great, and he didn’t need her bad attitude mucking up his good mood.
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This was it, the moment Michael had waited for all summer. With one little device, he would eventually have access to everything he loved, his music.
Michael smiled upon hearing the sweet opening lyric of Jamiroquai's “Canned Heat.” It was the only song on his recently bought iPod Touch, but it was way better than nothing. The afro-headed teen was cheap. Every time he went on a coffee run for Colleen, he'd grab one of those cards that allowed one to redeem a free song on iTunes. He had about ten or so stacked up back in his room, and the one he'd found in his back pocket that had given him access to “Canned Heat.” All it took was a little Wi-Fi borrowing, and he was officially in business.
He sang the song aloud as he walked home from the first day of school. Thankfully, the day had gone much quicker than expected. For a moment, he wondered how. Shrugging to himself, he guessed his longing for his new iPod had caused time to speed up. Yup, that was it.
About a minute or so into the song, he came across a familiar landmark, the Dust Bowl, an old abandoned skate park. Since he wasn’t exactly a skater, he’d never taken much interest in the place before. He glanced at the park once, but proceeded on his way.
However, something caught his attention. A familiar voice broke through the music in his ears. He stopped, trying to find the speaker as he peered through the chain link fence. Unable to see anything at that vantage point, he grabbed onto the fence with one hand and hoisted himself up higher. Finally, he saw her.
Some distance away, Kim Ramone was brutally menacing some poor kid. Michael could barely hear her words, but he caught something along the lines of “steal,” “my board,” and “last mistake.” Kim held the boy up by the collar, and one of her fists was aimed at his face. Michael squinted in the sunlight, but his concentration was no longer on Kim.
This whole time, he’d focused on his music, daydreaming to the lyrics. He imagined tropical weather and dancing. He imagined a warm summer sun on his skin, wishing the cold fall season would change back to summer. The sun in his imagination was warmer than even he could have imagined. In fact, it was so warm he could almost feel it. Soon enough, he really did feel the warmth . . . and it was coming from his right hand. He looked down and gasped.
Something had happened to his hand, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. Red-orange light emanated from his hand, and it pulsed rhythmically. But the light wasn’t what had shocked him.
From what he could discern, the light around his hand had just melted a hole through the chain-link fence. Gloppy bits of steel wire dripped onto the asphalt. His hand had created a hole in the fence the size of a baseball glove. He did a double take, blinked twice, and stared at his hand again. The red-orange light still pulsed around it. Had he just gone insane? Or was this the coolest thing to ever happen to him?
Unfortunately, he didn't have a lot of time to decide. Glancing back up at Kim, he froze in fear as she suddenly sent an extremely venomous glare in his direction. The boy she was about to pound backed away like a confused crab, but Kim had lost interest. Her icy glare was on Michael. Not even he was dense enough to think she hadn’t seen the whole thing.
He didn't think about what to do next. Breaking free from Kim’s glare, he spun around and made a run for it. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was running, but he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He didn’t know what he was more scared of: Kim or the burning light around his hand. Either way, he was freaked out. And he did not want to stick around to see this day get worse.
Once Michael had disappeared from sight, Kim became less angry and more serious. Well, she became seriously annoyed, anyway. The kid who had tried to steal her skateboard was gone now. He'd gotten lucky, but he wasn't a problem anymore. She had a bigger problem on her hands now, and she had sincerely hoped she’d never have to deal with it. But to her extreme irritation, the dreaded dilemma had arrived.
Kim wasn't the only Music Master in the neighborhood, anymore.
“Figures,” she growled under her breath, to no one in particular. “When boys become Music Masters, they just have to be the biggest morons on the block, don't they?”
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Now that . . . was a workout . . .” Michael panted, leaning his hands on his knees. His chest was painfully tight, and his legs were screaming. Fifteen blocks of straight running was no easy task, even for someone with a dancer's body. But he could not have stayed at the skate park, especially after he saw that look on Kim’s face. She'd seen everything. She knew. Now the only question was; did she know more than he did? He made a mental note to remember to ask her that, overriding his previous mental note to stay away from her.
Though he was a little hesitant to at first, he checked his hand again. The burning light was gone. A wave of relief hit him, but after it came another wave of curiosity and wonder.
What was that exactly? He had no idea. But his uncle had once told him all great men should ask questions. And plenty of questions surged through the teen’s mind. “Canned Heat” had finished playing in his ears sometime during his frantic sprinting, but the song was the last thing on his mind.
He placed his hand against his face. It was still a little warm. At least, it was warmer than usual. His stomach twisted into a knot when he remembered the orange light. It was bizarre and unsettling . . . but also exciting; from the point where he had figured out his hand was burning a hole through the fence to the point where Kim was glaring him down.
He smiled. If only Rob had been there to see it, he thought. Straightening himself, the teen entered his building with his good mood rejuvenated. So what if summer was over?
At this point, he began to think his new iPod Touch was no longer the highlight of the day. With a wide smile, he realized everything he thought he knew about the world had just gone right down the drain.