We made a pact on this bench in ’84 and met again here thirty years later.
We had little then—just punk clothing, inexpensive beer, and plenty of attitude. Every weekend we would sit on the seat as if it were our own personal monarchy. Arguing about bands, exchanging half-burnt smokes, daring one another to do the dumbest things. None of us had work worth bragging about, but that was irrelevant. We…