I just put youtube's "80s classic alternative" mix on while I do some paperwork, and I can feel
the Aquanet in my hair and
taste
the cheap black lipstick and
smell
the clove cigarettes and
see
the blacklight and
smell
the sweet chemical smell of the fog machine and
feel
the laces of my boots crushing my jeans into my legs and...
and this song was ten years on from that time but that's what it's about in the end and now it's thirty years gone.
Young Iain, dancing in that juice bar in Chicago, was closer to Woodstock than he is to me today.
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