#professional car spray paint

[carspraypainters]

Why is Car Rust Repair in Sydney Crucial for Resale Valuation?

The car rust removal in Sydney does more than just make it look bad; it can also seriously shorten its lifetime and jeopardise its structural integrity. Any car owner who lives in a place like Sydney, where the salt air from the coast and fluctuating weather may make rust problems worse, has to know how to properly manage and eliminate rust.

Professional car spray paint may make a big impact whether you want to entirely alter the colour of your car, cover up blemishes, or update its look. A well-painted car may improve appearances and raise resale value in a world where first impressions count.

Selecting the Best Expert Vehicle Paint Application Service

Look Up Local Suppliers: Find trustworthy car body businesses nearby. Customer happiness and service quality may be inferred from online reviews and ratings.

Request Portfolios: Reputable painters must have a portfolio with examples of their prior projects. Examining their previous work will help you gauge their degree of expertise and style.

Find Out About Types of Paint: Better endurance and finish can be obtained using automotive-grade paints of superior quality.

Obtain Several Quotes: Never be afraid to ask for quotations from many service providers. This will assist you in finding the most value for your money by comparing costs and services.

Verify Warranties: Find out whether the work has any warranties. A competent expert provider will guarantee the paint work and stand behind their work.

An investment in professional automotive spray painting may revitalise your car, giving it a brand-new appearance and shielding it from the weather. You may get a high-quality finish that improves the lifespan and visual appeal of your automobile with the correct service provider.

Superior Surface and Sturdiness Utilising Colour Matching Solution

Professional paint spraying results in an effortless, even finish that DIY approaches sometimes can’t attain. Experts can produce a faultless appearance since they have the equipment, know-how, and expertise needed.

Rain, UV rays, and road debris are just a few of the environmental elements that premium vehicle paint is made to resist. You may take pleasure in a beautifully painted automobile for many years to come if you take the time to investigate and select the best service!

Source

[wellworth]

Injector Pro Clean Diesel Fuel Injector Cleaner

Injector pro clean is a concentrated, one-tank clean-up product that will reduce smoke, improve performance, and reduce emissions. cleans intake manifolds, injectors, combustion chambers, turbochargers, and coolers, restoring lost performance. use injector pro clean annually or whenever deposit-related performance issues are suspected. available in sizes to treat small and commercial vehicles or bulk tanks.

[seat-safety-switch]

You can go out and just buy yourself some dump truck paint. It's at special stores, sure, but there's no government creepazoid who is going to make sure you actually-factually really do own a piece of large industrial equipment. Then you can spray it on your car. There's just one problem: dump truck paint kind of sucks.

I know, you're surprised too. Dump trucks are heavy, and they get rocks dropped on them all the time, and my cousin had a Tonka growing up that seems to have held up pretty well. Well, that Tonka's paint was applied properly by a professional who wasn't using a 25-year-old can of the stuff that he found at the very bottom of the industrial paint store's dumpster. Whenever I do it, the stuff just flakes off, even if I spend, like, five whole minutes sanding first.

I won't proceed to bore you any more about the crises of my inadequate painting technique. Today, I'm here to tell you that I have figured out a way to get dump truck paint that actually sticks to my car. Turns out the city just parks their industrial equipment outside, and they even provide a convenient block-heater outlet for you to run a plasma cutter on. With some aggressive free-handing and power-squinting, I was able to cut a couple "patch panels" directly off of a trendy Caterpillar. Believe me that it was a very Zen experience, especially when I later pop-riveted them onto the quarter of my Volare.

If there is one bad part of the whole thing, it's that the city keeps spilling so much more road salt on the streets in the winter, so even this robust new paint won't last as long as once I hoped they would. Almost like there's some giant fender-shaped holes cut in the bottom of their sanding trucks or something.

[specterllaw]

F@cking the boss - Harvey Specter x Reader Part 1/2

Summary: After being interviewed for a job offer that was meant for your roommate you meet a fascinating boss who sees right through all of your lies

You sighed as you approached your apartment door, it was painted a dull faded orange that now looked like someone had been smoking in the halls for years, you sorted through the stack of mail you grabbed on your way into the building. All of it was bills or advertisements until you got to a thin envelope, it was addressed to your roommate but it came from a big law firm in Upstate Manhattan. Pearson and Hardman, you had seen their commercials way too many times. Curious you ripped opened the paper envelope, flipping open the folded paper inside seeing an invitation to interview as a new assistant for one of their senior associates. You smirked a bit walking inside as you shut your apartment door and plopped down on the couch, grabbing your bowl of weed from the table smoking it gone before going to your room to find clothes for the interview. See normally you’d never open your roommates mail, but recently she had taken it open herself to open her legs to your boyfriend and get you fired from your shared job, so you felt like you deserved this.

Monday morning

You gulped nervous pushing open the hotel door and walking farther into the conference rooms trying to figure out where the hell this meeting was being held, until you saw the giant sign, ‘PEARSON AND HARDMAN LAW FIRM INTERVIEW NEXT DOOR ON THE RIGHT’. You took a deep breath hoping for it to give you some confidence as you walked through the door looking at all of the other females who were waiting, they all matched the type of your roommate, blonde hair, big boobs, and mini skirts. You felt like you were dressed too professional as you walked up to the desk “excuse me?..is this the interviews for the law firm?” You asked politely to the woman sitting at the desk “yes, yes it is, go down that hallway to the left and you’ll meet with Mr. Specter” she said pointing down a short hallway. You felt like the ground was shaking under your feet as you made your way to the makeshift office that had a well dressed man sitting behind the desk looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Who are you?” He asked tilting his head up towards you like he was better than you in a sense. "My name is Y/n L/n, I'm here for the..assistant position?" You offered as you took a seat in front of him, he watched you closely "Everybody is, darling, what makes you so special?" He asked crossing his arms "I'm determined in my work, I have no boyfriend, no kids, and I'm looking for a good job to get my foot in the door to becoming the best lawyer in New York" You said stubbornly eyeing him in the same manner he was to you, you knew what he was doing, intimidation. "...okay" He said unsure "What do you have experience with?"

Next Monday

You were in complete shock, you were on your way to walk to the law firm when a car had stopped in front of your path, you stopped getting your pepper spray out and ready before the window rolled down revealing Harvey Specter sitting in the back "You think I would let my new secretary walk to work? No Princess, in the car" He demanded as you stuttered rushing to the other door sliding into the seat. "Listen. Today's gonna be alot, Y/n, You'll be meeting my former assistant and who's retiring after today, you'll meet Louis Litt, jackass on a stick, he threatens or tries to flirt you tell me got it?" You nodded "You'll meet Mike Ross, my hired associate, you'll also answer to him partially under my word and he'll answer to you." After Harvey got done briefing you, You were trained by a pregnant woman named Donna, had a meeting with Jessica Pearson, a meeting with Louis Litt, and Mike Ross. Now you were being motioned in by Harvey who was sitting at his desk, his suit jacket sitting on his chair as he watched you, he looked hot as hell, and you knew you were shamelessly checking him out, unknown to you he was doing the same thing.

You took a seat in front of him as he offered you a soft smile "Hey, How's your first day?" He asked raising an eyebrow "I-It's good..I'm enjoying it so far..Louis was very...stern though" You mumbled, he raised his eyebrows "Nothing over the line, right? You're alright?" He asked, "I'm fine, Mr. Specter, I'm a big girl" You stated nervously, you knew you had been lying to Harvey since the interview, you were not qualified to work for Pearson-Hardman and you weren't anything like his past receptionist. "Well, I'm heading out for the night, care for a drink?" He offered standing up, grabbing his jacket and files "U-Um actually, I've gotta get back home" Truth was, you had to meet your dealer to get your next bag of weed. "Great, We'll drink there" He said quickly, you could tell he wasn't going to let go of the topic and Donna did warn you, Harvey liked to get close with his receptionists, they were like brother and sister. You huffed going to grab your coat and bag as Harvey called for the elevator, You followed behind eyeing him up and down any chance you got.

As you entered your apartment you realized your dealer had already been there, there was a bag of pre-rolled's on your coffee table. You were quick to dive for the bag grabbing it as Harvey walked in, watching you in confusion "Hiding something?" He asked raising an eyebrow "N-No" You protested crossing your arms, hiding the bag of joints under your arm. He tilted his head walking closer, if he was anybody different you probably would've pepper sprayed his ass, but he was hot and a damn good lawyer. "You know, Y/n..Wanna know something funny about me?" He asked as he stalked closer to you, you looked him in the eyes as you slowly shuffled back towards the wall keeping the bag tightly tucked in-between your arm and chest. "Hmm?" You asked before bumping into the wall, watching as Harvey took slow, agonizing steps towards you until you felt his breath on your face "I know when people are lying...and I know you're lying about a lot of stuff" He said quietly, not breaking eye contact with you, narrowing your eyes you put a hand on his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Specter" You offered raising your eyebrows. He slammed his hand against the wall by your head almost making your knees give out and you fall to the floor, Harvey was huffing and you were trying to even your breathing from how hot he was currently "What're you hiding, Y/n" He asked alot more sternly, your arms dropped in defeat, the bag falling to the floor in between your feet and Harvey's. He smirked kneeling down as he picked up the bag with two fingers dangling it infront of your face. "Nothing was it?" He asked again, his tone was antagonizing, like he was teasing you. "Nothing at all" You proposed as he raised his eyebrows leaning closer before pulling one of your joints out, putting it between his lips, lighting it, all before blowing the smoke into your face. "Seems like a pretty good something to me, you get this from Mike?" He asked, your mouth dropped in shocked "That is Mike!" You gasped as he watched you, placing the joint between your lips he smirked "Inhale" He whispered as you took a hit, you inhaled then exhaled before slowly moving to the couch, Harvey close behind.

Your joint bag was gone, you and Harvey had smoked the entire thing and were now stoned off your asses, laying naked in your bed recovering from the most mind-blowing sex you've ever had. "You just ate an entire bag of pretzels how do you not have cotton mouth?" You asked in disbelief, he just laughed rolling on his back, you could see his bare chest and stomach as the sheet started to fall down around his waist. "I'm Harvey Specter I don't get cotton mouff" He stated before laughing as he made eye contact with you "Mouff? Harvey Specter does too get cotton mouff!" You laughed as you handed him your water bottle looking at him as he took a huge gulp. This was a different side of Harvey, one that laughed, that hugged, that cared.

"Harvey?.." You asked after the two of you stopped laughing "Yes?.." He asked turning towards you, draping a hand over your bare waist "Do you sleep with all of your receptionists?" You asked quietly, you could feel his fingers brushing up and down your side as he looked at you "Do you lie and fuck all of your bosses?" He challenged, you raised your eyebrows slapping his chest "ow! I'm kidding!" He laughed "No...I don't..I'm stoned, but, I know you're a sweet woman, who is already amazing at a job she was never qualified for" He stated, you studied his face, watching his breathing. He was truly the most Handsome man you've ever seen.

"Am I fired?" You asked playing with his hair slowly "No...I like you too much to let you go, and it's hard to find a lady to boss me around while also following my orders" He stated kissing your forehead before you tucked your head against his chest dozing off.

[deeloveskiss]

random kiss facts (correct me if im wrong on some of these, i read them from articles and interviews)

⭐️

•ace frehley was allergic to the silver face paint, since its ground up metal. he passed out with the makeup on after getting drunk one night and woke up with his eyes swollen shut

•during the shoot of kiss meets the phantom of the park, ace was extremely high through most of the movie as one of the guys on the set was a coke dealer

•paul switched his makeup from the starchild to the bandit for a short amount of time due to the star makeup being "asymmetrical" and "too feminine"

•gene actually wanted eddie van halen to be apart of kiss, but paul didnt have any interest in him joining, and ace and peter "were too busy making bad decisions about life"

•peter never actually "proposed" to lydia. he said he wanted to get married while they were watching romeo and juliet. she never received an engagement ring

•lydia helped peter make his costumes before kiss got signed with casablanca and his costumes were made professionally

•after ace created the kiss logo, paul revised it with a sharpie and a ruler. he did it by eye, so the two lightning bolts arent identical. the band chose not to change that after getting a record deal

•during a concert, ace grabbed ahold of a railing that wasn't grounded properly and got shocked. he ended up playing the rest of the show with no feeling in his hand. this also inspired the writing of the song "shock me"

•if one band member ended up getting an sti (which was very very common back in their groupie days), the whole band would get it because they stored their clothes together while on tour

•ace got kicked out of 2 highschools and dropped out of 1

•paul did not like gene when he first met him. he thought he was self centered and insulting

•on the cover of their debut album, ace sprayed his hair silver because he thought it looked cool. peters makeup was done professionally, which is why the cover is the only time he can be seen wearing it

•eric carrs real name is paul caravello. since there was already a paul in kiss, they had to come up with a stage name for him. he suggested that his stage name should be "rusty blade," before deciding on eric carr

•vinnies ankh warrior makeup was designed by paul

•before kiss, paul and ace worked as cab drivers, gene worked as a teacher and peter was always apart of bands

•eric carrs original makeup design was supposed to be a hawk, but he decided to change it to the fox design after paul said he looked like big bird

•in recent years, paul started wearing knee pads under his costume due to his knees being scar tissue from falling on stage

•paul also wears a fake nail over his index finger from it being worn down by playing guitar

•gene used to accidentally swallow some of the kerosene he used to spit fire, which caused him to eat burnt toast to neutralize the poisons before seeking medical treatment

•ace got involved in a cop chase at 90mph. he was eventually arrested and charged with drunk driving, reckless driving and leaving the scene of 3 accidents

•before the hth album shoot, ace got into a car crash after getting drunk and crashing into a telephone pole.

•during the hth shoot (the ones on the back of the album) paul got so drunk that gene locked him in a car until the shoot was over

•into the void is the only song on the psycho circus album where every member played

[queercodedvillains]

If you can I’d love to hear the outline/tldr of your Claire’s AU because the posts under that tag are always so funny to me

So the claires au tag started because I wanted to collect all my modern au inspo posts in one place. Since it all gravitates around my beloved little terrorist Deidara, and I think he'd do great at a dead end low effort retail job with a bonus perk of bullying giving piercings to tweens and a sick employee discount, the claire's au was born. In hindsight, I wish I had called it the mallrats au, but since the fics came after the tag, we're stuck with the consequences of my choices smh.

It's expanded significantly, to the point that its sooo hard to summarize, but I'm gonna try my best here!!

My general goal is to transcribe everything we know from canon as closely/creatively as I can to a modern/90s setting. Tbh this started because I just was not emotionally prepared to handle canon!akatsuki levels of fucked up war criminals and I just wanted to put them in low stakes shenanigans that keeps the core of their characters without all the murder and angst and action (I hate writing action. Horror is fun and dandy, but spin kicks and explosions and puppets are beyond me for now).

So in the claires au/mallrats cinematic universe, the Akatsuki are just a gang of queers doing your run of the mill criminal activity. Drug dealing, car stealing, chop shopping, gun running, book cooking, you name it. They all ended up kicked out of society for one reason or another, banded together, and became mundane villains of polite society.

For example, Sasori is always depicted as tinkering with his puppets. So I decided that tendency to methodically pull someone apart and back together, that special calculating mindset that it takes to look at a body and come up with twelve different secret weapons to hide in their limbs, would make the perfect fodder for a chop shop mechanic. Stolen cars instead of stolen corpses. He seems like he got the obsessing-over-cars brand of autism and I love him for it. He's weird and reclusive and pretentious and insufferable and genius.

Deidara likes explosives, duh, but guns are so boring imo so I wanted to dig deeper into his love of temporary beauty, and how that meshes perfectly with drugs. They're ephemeral, transient experiences that fade quickly but leave a lasting impact on a person, changing their life, etc. He's also. Super fucking pretentious about it. Don't let him corner you at a party. Sasori might be the chemist but Deidara is the real brains behind the operation, and also the very willing test subject. I see him as a club kid, always on one in the middle of the crowd, and entirely responsible for the Akatsuki's branding. He designed the clouds and the patented pressed pills (we got blue teslas, they got white owls, etc) and also is solely responsible for word of mouth advertising. He's always got a can of spray paint and/or a black business card with nothing but a phone number and a red cloud. He's always bright and loud and shiny and looking for attention in seedy places, always in the middle of the mosh pit or the dance floor or some sketchy back alley or the skate park (skating is kinda like riding a giant flying bird, right?) Either way, everyone wants whatever the fuck he's on.

Together they're a power couple. Absolutely nasty, insufferable to talk to, impossible to be around unless you're just as pretentious as them about their very specific interests AND willing to listen to them bicker endlessly about their arts. Naturally, they only have two friends. Kakuzu and Hidan.

I want to dig into their backstories and relationships later, narratively, but the barest bones of it is that Hidan is Deidara's childhood friend and professional pain in the ass. Class clowns in detention together, bullying the local nerds, weirdo queer kids with serious mental issues from broken homes, a scrappy sort of friendship born out of desperation for someone Like Them etc. I mean Hidan's got a nasty sadomasochistic streak, a propensity for self harm, and an obsession with the occult so don't get me started on him as your local satanic bad influence. Their whole thing could be its own post tbh.

Kakuzu and Sasori are like crotchety old men on the porch. They like to sit in some booth at the club talking shit and looking menacing while Deidara and Hidan are busy 'advertising'. I also see Kakuzu as a bit of a mentor to Sasori, being a bit older and wiser and seeing Sasori get dragged into the Akatsuki after dropping out of med school and being disowned by his grandmother (a whole other post as well) and spiraling into shitty coping mechanisms (alcohol, mostly). Kakuzu smacked some sense into him and got him sobered up because he loves that sad pathetic wet cat of a man they got money to make!!

If and when Sasori and Deidara split up to work, I see them pairing up with Kakuzu and Hidan, respectively. Every artsy twink needs their burly body guard, yknow?

I'm maintaining their age differences to some degree, although pinched closer. At the time Mallrats is set, Deidara is 25, Hidan is 26, Sasori is 32, Kakuzu is 40. Itachi and Kisame are also mid 20s, Konan and Pain and Zetsu and Tobi are in their 30s.

Deidara centric timeline wise (and trying to stick to canon as closely as realistically possible) he gets kicked out of his house for being fruity at 14, ends up couch surfing with Hidan (having 'sleep overs', or sneaking into his room when Hidan's mom said no but didn't care enough think to look under his bed/the closet/that pile of laundry) and when he can't pull that off, staying in the mall til after closing and posting up in there all night. After a while, someone in the Akatsuki notices him kicking rocks in a parking lot and realizes they need some scrappy kid to run a backpack from one end of town to the other without getting noticed. One thing leads to another and he ends up catching Konan's attention. She (30s, forgery and embezzling specialist, dyke and mother of the house) shuffles some papers, gets him his own apartment on the condition that he works for her and the money goes from their business associates to him to her to his landlord.

I have a soft spot for Konan doing this for anyone she can. Queer kids in the 80s and 90s didn't exactly have resources, and she did what she could with what she had, handing them a way to earn their own money and a safe place to live, even if its seedy and illegal. Beats the streets! Most of them were runners for a few years and aged out, she signed their SRO apartments off to them at 18 and they moved on with their lives. There's a whole host of people who only know her as Lady Angel (winknod to canon again) because she did what she could to save em. Deidara just happened to be too good at his job and got pulled higher and higher, until he landed in Sasori's shop.

That's about caught up to what I've gotten so far in Mallrats and The Waiting Room (with so much more to go. My muse is wildly overactive for the amount of time and attention span I got). I got head canons on like all the main characters from Konoha/Suna, all the Akatsuki, and the Sanin. Where they work, how they interact, how their relationships translate to mallrat/clubrat shenanigans, etc.

Every detail Sasori and Deidara falling in love? DUH. But also........... A complete dossier on everyone's kinks? Hidan and Deidara's gay awakening? Sasori's history with Orochimaru? The absolute fuckery that is any of their home life before the Akatsuki? Brazilian Kakuzu? Jashinism in a neopagan satanic context? Kakuzu and Hidan's perfectly vicious relationship? Konan as Lady Angel? Itachi darling son of the police chief working for the mob to spite his homophobic dad? Kisame... well, idk about Kisame, but if you care enough to develop it with me I could be convinced to!! The list goes ON.

I could go into heavier detail about so much more but this is already so long T^T. If you read this far thank u ilysm and I would be so delighted to get into more if you're interested!! The ask box is always open and I am foaming at the mouth over them at the drop of a hat <3

[shyphonics]

Salad Days, Chapter 7: I Used To Be a Baby, Now I'm Just a Criminal.

(babypunk Rodrick Heffley x reader)

chapter directory

I think this is the longest chapter I've written, I broke 6k words!! Also very excited to finally use the most Rodrick-coded song I can think of, please treat yourself to the music video lol.

I've been working on the next few chapters all at once, so they might come out a little faster. :)

Time is our enemy, we’ve had enough

Let’s get together, let’s show them what’s up

1312, ACAB

Es para la gente, pa todo el mundo

Sale del corazón, queremos ser libres

1312, ACAB

You pull up to the front of The Strike, and it’s bad.

Where there was once a giant, beautiful bay window, almost as tall as the building itself, there is now a giant hole. Flyers which previously coated the window are crushed and ripped, the colorful papers poking out under smashed panes of glass.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You get out to observe the damage, and find Mike sweeping up shards of glass.

“Did you call the cops?” You ask, stepping over a broken barstool.

“They were already here. Didn’t give a shit, of course. Said they had an anonymous tip, but they probably just wanted to go back to doing fuck-all.”

You look around, and notice crude graffiti on the walls.

I burned down the Plainview library on one wall.

And I’ll do the same to this shithole on the other.

RH is spray painted on the mirror behind the bar.

RH…

Rodrick…? You’re pretty sure his last name is something with an H.

And all those cop cars at his apartment…

Either Bryan Kemp is a complete and utter moron, or there’s some other RH out there, and you’ve got it all wrong. One is far more likely than the other.

You head to the back, and find the thick binder of banned IDs.

Before you can open it, the phone rings.

“Strike,” you answer, ���we’re closed.”

You tuck the phone into the crook of your neck, and open up The List.

“This is Officer Houston, can I speak to your boss?” A condescending voice creeps into your ear.

“You can speak to me.” You say harshly.

He’s quiet, before you hear a small sigh.

“In relation to the vandalism case at your address, we could not make contact with the perp alleged in the anonymous tip.”

“Because your alleged perp didn’t do it. Rodrick H? Is that the name he gave you?”

“I… can’t disclose that information at this time.” The cop sounds nervous.

“Okay, well, he was with me, all last night and today.” Your voice is low and stable. You really wanna bite this guy’s head off, but you have to stay bare-minimum professional.

“Ma’am, this person was implicated in two separate crimes, with the threat of a third, and we would like to go forward with questioning when we make contact. We will check his alibi when we do.”

You find the most recent pages, with the ID scans from last night. There he is. That motherfucker. You squint, reading his information.

“It was Bryan Kemp, okay? I have his address right here, go talk to him. 452 Spring Hill Lane. On the college campus.”

You hear the sound of a pen scratching paper.

“And your reasoning?”

“We had to kick his ass out of our bar last night for assaulting a performer- assaulting the person he gave you the name of, mind you. He’s lucky we didn’t call you.”

Silence falls over the phone line, save for the sounds of the detective jotting things down. You get impatient, tapping your nails faster and faster on the desk.

“We’ll look into it, ma’am.” He finally says.

You feel anger bubbling up in you, slamming the phone down before you can say something regrettable. Ma’am. Fuck off.

You grab a broom off the wall, and walk back around to the front of the bar. It's a fucking mess.

You duck under the bar to find the stereo, thankfully safe in its little plexiglass prison.

“There’s one thing they can never take from us, Mike.”

“If you’re gonna say our dignity, you’re alone, kid. Mine’s been gone since ‘82.” Mike sits in the middle of the floor, rubbing his temples.

“Nah,” you flip the stereo on, and the typical weekend mix starts playing, gritty and upbeat, “It’s totally cheesy, but I was gonna say the music. Literally and figuratively. Because the stereo still works.” Mike smiles, looking up at the speakers as the room fills with the sweet sounds of T.S.O.L.

“God dammit,’ he sighs, standing up, “C’mere,”

He puts his arms out, and you hug him. It’s comforting, almost parental. You pat each other on the back, soft, then harder. Reassuring, like you’re trying to hype each other up.

“We’re gonna clean this fucking bar up, right?” You say, feeling tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re gonna get all this glass out of here, and- and get paint, fix the window.” Mike sniffles.

“Jimbo has to have a glass guy, have you called him?”

“I’m gonna call him!”

“Hell yeah, you are!”

“Kid. It’s strange to say, but- you’re my best friend.”

You pull away, holding him by the shoulders.

“And you’re the last real punk. What did you always used to tell me? When I was a little street rat?”

“You can do anything you want!” He beams, pointing at you.

“You can do anything you want!” You grin, shaking him slightly.

The two of you are all psyched up, sweeping up glass, playing your brooms like guitars, screaming along to Minor Threat and Adicts and and Stiff Little Fingers.

Other bartenders show up, along with the bouncers. You sit in a big circle on the floor, drinking shitty beer and laughing. Jimbo is up on a ladder- he does have a glass guy. You knew he would. They’re brushing all the broken bits out of the frame and measuring the dimensions. For now, it’ll be plywood, but it’s something. You want to call Rodrick, tell him everything’s gonna be okay, but you realize you don’t even have his number.

You make your way up to the office, and log into your email.

From: worldsbestbartender@aol.com

To: lodeddiperrawkz@aol.com

Subject: All good :)

We're getting everything cleaned up over here. Measuring for a new window and everything. I gave the cops Bryan’s address. I think he was trying to frame you. Stupid asshole LOL. I told the cops you were with me all night and day. They’re being jerks, though- kinda their M.O. I guess- but if they come back, you don’t have anything to worry about.

I had a really good time with you.

Call me, okay? 444-7881

You smile as you hit send, and head back downstairs.

You really don't want him to worry- he'd looked so sad when he got out of your car. Everything will be okay. He'll still be waiting for you when you're done taking care of business.

Rodrick sits against the wall, knees to his chest, hyperventilating.

“What does that even mean? Associated with a crime scene- what- what does that mean?”

“Dude, chill out,” Ben crouches next to him, “You didn’t do anything, right? You’ve been with that girl.”

“Yeah, but,” Rodrick puts his head in his hands.

He’s never told anyone what he did.

It was stupid, and reckless, but nobody had gotten hurt. The repairs to that street went over pretty easy, and it never even comes up in the news anymore.

Sure, people assumed.

He'd been the weird kid. Dark hair and eyeliner. Metal band. Nearly a high school dropout. Essentially a pariah. Of course people had assumed it was him.

But they never knew for sure.

There’s no point in telling anyone. He’ll just keep it with him, until one day, it’s barely even a notable memory.

But the bar. That’s on him, as far as he can figure. He could’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“Ben, the bar got fucked up, and it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have fought back against Bryan, I should have just-”

“Dude,” Ben puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Taken it like I did back home, and now she’s gonna hate me, I fucked up,” He wails.

Sobs rack his body as he sinks further down the wall. Ben sits next to him and stares, agape.

“What are you talking about?”

Rodrick takes a moment to calm down, trying to breathe slow and steady. He wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his denim jacket. He really hates when he cries, especially when he can’t stop it like this.

“Someone- well, Bryan, probably- wrecked the bar, and it’s all my fault, I can never go back.” He hates how whiny his voice sounds.

“Should we go down and see if we can help?” Ben asks gently.

“No. No, I’m never going back there. We can find a different bar, or- or get real jobs. I can’t ever show my face there again.”

“Real jobs? What the fuck has gotten into you?” Ben asks, “That’s not why we’re here, dude.”

“Ward and Chris are at work.” Rodrick pouts, “I just saw Ward. At his job.”

“Yeah. Shit jobs to make rent. We all said we’d get one of those. But you are not gonna sit here and say anything about real jobs.”

Rodrick frowns up at him.

“You gotta calm down, man. I’m sure it’s just a big misunderstanding.”

Rodrick looks down. There’s no way. He’d felt so good before all this. He should’ve known better. He’s not allowed to be happy. He doesn’t deserve it.

He let you down.

You’re probably back at the bar, cursing his name. Regretting ever taking him home, or spending the day with him, or enjoying his company. Letting him write his band name next to yours. He feels like a total fraud.

Ben is still talking. Rodrick isn’t listening. Ben hoists him up, and puts him on one of the floor mattresses.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rodrick does not feel better in the morning.

His dreams are loud.

He's on trial for arson. Heather Hills is his defense lawyer, dressed in a pink, tweed skirt suit like the blonde woman in that movie his mom liked.

I'm supposed to defend this loser? She laughs. He totally did it, are you kidding me? Just look at him.

The judge laughs at him. The jury laughs at him. Rodrick realizes they're all people he went to school with.

He's beyond help. He's scary. He's crazy! He's a danger to society. Just let him rot.

Rodrick puts his head in his hands, and when he takes them away from his face again, he’s in orange, long sleeves and handcuffs. His hands are shaking. Two men are gripping his shoulders, leading him down a hallway.

Sent to prison, but it looks… abandoned. Like the ones he's seen on those ghost hunting shows. The walls are filthy, and crumbling. The guards trip him and jeer as he walks by.

He’s thrown into a tiny, concrete cell, with only a tiny window on the door.

He sees his mom’s face through the window. She shakes her head.

Then his dad's voice, He's better off in there. It's better for all of us.

He's buckled into a straitjacket, and a psychiatrist is sent to see him. It's you, dressed in a white doctor’s coat, glowing and angelic against the drab concrete. You have no idea who he is. He tries everything to get you to remember.

C'mon. You know me. From the bar! We played a show together, you took me home and we spent the day together. I'm not dangerous, I just… I fucked up! I didn't hurt anyone. You know me!

Your eyes are cold. You sit with a clipboard, legs crossed, scribbling down notes. Like you're observing a science experiment. He's sobbing, begging for you to say something, but the more desperate he gets, the faster you write. You say nothing. He struggles against his restraints. Maybe he really is crazy.

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

Ben and Ward are standing over him. He jolts up.

“Fuck,” he pants, “what the hell are you guys doing?”

“You were freaking us out, dude.” Ben sits on the couch, looking at him.

“Yeah, you were twitching and talking and shit.” Ward walks back to the kitchen, pouring a mug of coffee.

“I had a weird dream.” Rodrick sighs, rubbing his eye.

The doorknob turns, and Chris walks in.

“Did you guys hear about what happened to The Strike?”

Ben looks at Rodrick. Rodrick panics.

As Chris moves to the kitchen to tell Ward, Rodrick escapes through the front door.

“I’m going out,” he mumbles.

~

Oh, what happened to my little boy?

It's so fuckin’ sad

He used to be a little baby

Now he's just a criminal

~

You adjust the neckline on your top, weighed down by a lav microphone. The news crew buzzes, and Mike nervously paces back and forth. You stand in front of The Strike, the boarded up window in view. With the police being seemingly no help, you and Mike had decided to call the media. Mike would rally, you and Jimbo would stand in as support. Local punks of all ages had heard what happened and were milling around on the street, a sea of black leather and bright hair.

The news anchor flashes you a fake smile, smoothing down her coral blazer, and running a hand through her long, brown hair.

“Are you excited to be on TV?”

You grimace, raising an eyebrow. Excited? Is she kidding?

“Yeah…” you answer, choosing not to pick a fight before you’re on air.

Mike can be a very impassioned guy. You’re slightly worried about what he’ll say and do on live TV, but you can’t say you won’t support it. He’s instructed you to do two things: stand next to him, and look angry.

The camera operator starts to count down from 5, pointing at the anchor on 1.

“Hi, I’m Sadie Shaw, Port Hanna Channel 7. I’m here with local bar owner, Mike Morello, and two of his employees. Their bar, The Strike, was vandalized early Saturday morning, and they’re putting out a call for justice.”

You try your best to look alive, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“Well, Sadie, I wanna take you back to San Francisco, 1978…” Mike starts, his voice more pronounced than usual, still with its nasally twinge.

Here we go.

“Dan White assassinates Harvey Milk and George Moscone. Milk, a gay icon and a friend to the punks, Moscone, an ally to both. Got a pathetically small sentence because he used to be a cop. We made it known that that was not appreciated.”

The news anchor’s eyes go wide.

“Dianne Feinstein takes over the city. Punishing us because of what they did to us! The cops are putting padlocks on the Art Institute before an Avengers show! They’re coming by the Mab, and the Deaf Club, and 330 Grove and beating up kids who weren’t doing anyone any harm!” He raises his voice, pointing ardently at the camera.

“Uh…” Sadie stutters.

You nod firmly, staring into the lens. A few cheers of yeah! and woo! erupt from the people on the street.

“But we didn’t sit back and take it! We fought back! And we’re not gonna let some frat boy take punk away from us, just like Dan White and Dianne Feinstein tried to take it away from us 30 years ago!” Mike shakes his fist at the sky, like he's making a promise.

People are cheering behind you. You crack a sly smile, still staring into the camera.

“We know who did this! We have his name and address in our ban list! We told the cops! Did they believe us?” Mike looks towards you.

“Nope.” You say, matter-of-factly.

“Of course they didn’t! Look at us! They don’t want anything to do with us! They just want us to shut up and deal with it! Meanwhile, this little douchebag threatened to burn down the bar! So I’m here to tell the cops- do your jobs!”

People laugh and yell behind you, oinking like pigs and parroting Mike.

Do your jobs! Do your jobs, piggies!

“Support your local bars, your local bands, and your only local radio station that hasn’t been taken over by the robots, 98.7!” Mike yells over the noise of the crowd. “And when we're open again, we promise to be more of a nuisance than ever!”

Sadie, with panicked eyes, turns towards the camera.

“Alright, well… you heard it here first! I’m Sadie Shaw, Channel 7.”

The crew starts to put the camera away, looking relieved.

Your microphones are taken off, and after a cold goodbye, the news crew drives off in their van.

As soon as they’re gone, you find yourself bursting into laughter, high-fiving passerby as you turn to follow Mike into the bar.

You check your cell phone, hoping for a call or a text from Rodrick. Hoping he got to see the chaos, too. But there’s nothing. You frown, but you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as Jimbo hands you a paint roller.

“Got a perfect match for the old walls. Guy at the store said the color is called 100 MPH.” He grins, flashing horns at you, “Sounds like me on my bike.”

You laugh, taking a peek at the paint lid. It’s the exact same jarring red as before, and the name makes you smile. You mirror Jimbo’s horns and walk inside.

Meanwhile, Rodrick drives aimlessly.

His eyes are dry from crying, and he can barely focus on the road. The radio is off.

He’s getting further and further out of town, and he realizes… his autopilot is taking him home.

He doesn’t want to go home.

He shouldn't even still be calling it home.

But there he is, passing his high school. The diner. And then he’s pulling up on his street.

He sees his family piling out of the car, just getting back from church. He slowly pulls up outside the house, and he sees Greg in the window, his eyes widening when he realizes who it is. He gets out of the van, slowly walking up to the door before knocking tentatively.

“Rodrick, you’re alive!” His mom wraps her arms around him when she opens the door, “You didn’t have to knock!”

“Jesus, mom!” Rodrick recoils slightly as she embraces him, “What? Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be alive?!”

As he sits at the dining room table with his family, he's overcome by a sense of familiarity. He feels like his old self.

“Greg got an A on his geometry final,” His dad says.

“Ha! Dork.” Rodrick lightly punches Greg on the shoulder.

“Rodrick, how was your concert?” His mom grins across from him. He notices his dad looking  away.

“Good. Great!” Rodrick smiles, recalling the noise of the crowd and the praise they'd gotten, before everything went to hell.

“Did you get paid?” His dad asks, still not looking at him.

Rodrick gives a pointed look to his dad, waiting a few seconds before answering.

“Yeah, we did. $200, plus we sold half the shirts we had.” He crosses his arms, “And the girl who got us on the show said we should have a lot more offers from other places by this weekend.”

He feels a twinge of guilt, knowing all that probably won't happen now. Knowing you probably hate him, and have already warned the other bars not to book his band. Even if they do get another show… he's too much of a coward to show up, anyway.

Proving his dad wrong comes above everything, though.

Frank scoffs out a laugh.

His mom smiles nervously, looking from Frank to Rodrick.

“That's great!”

“Yeah, great,” Frank rolls his eyes, “Two of the neighbor kids are starting medical residencies, and one is studying for the bar, but… you got $200! That's great!”

“Frank-”

“No, Susan, that's just fantastic! My son is being paid to hang out with bums!” He laughs, a high cackle, slamming his hand on the table.

Everyone is silent. His dad gets up, and disappears into the basement.

"Its, like... a third of our rent." Rodrick mutters, looking down.

“Greg,” his mom says after a minute, “Take Manny and go to the living room, would you?”

Greg looks at Rodrick for a minute, then back at his mom, brows knit in worry.

“Mom…?”

“It's cool,” Rodrick looks at him, smiling as much as he can manage, “Go on.”

Rodrick sits at the kitchen counter with his mom. She takes out two stemmed glasses and fills them with generous pours of sweet white wine.

“Don't listen to your dad.” She slides the glass to him.

“What?” Rodrick’s voice comes out weak.

“Sure, maybe for a while, I wanted you on a different path too, but… you're happy, right?”

Rodrick looks down into his glass. That's a big question. He decides to lie. Pretend that Saturday never happened. He takes a long sip of the wine, wincing at the sweetness.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking up at her, “I am. We… we got accepted, like, right away. Everyone liked us.”

His mom beams, leaning on the counter.

“People said we were really good, and- and we're on the list of bands that can open for big bands now. Like, touring bands.” Rodrick feels his heart skip a beat, knowing he's lying.

“That's great,” his mom puts her hand over his, “As long as you're happy, and you're alive, I'm happy. As for your dad, it might take a while, but I think he'll come around.”

“Mom, I…” he pauses. He wants to tell her everything. Everything. He almost does, then the urge is gone, “...I love you.”

His mom walks around the counter, hugging him tight. This time, he lets her.

He leaves without seeing his dad, giving Greg a noogie on his way out.

The drive back to town is quiet, but more peaceful than the drive in.

On the outskirts of town, he notices the liquor delivery plant he and the guys had visited a few days before, with a giant HIRING sign out front. He stops.

~

How do you know what my best interest is?

How can you say what my best interest is?

What are you trying to say, I’m crazy?

When I went to your schools?

I went to your churches?

I went to your institutional learning facilities?

So, how can you say I’m crazy?

~

It's late. You’re on the last leg of one of the most active radio shifts you've ever worked. People have started dropping money in the mail slot for repairs, and you’d had the idea to tell any future donors to include a note with a name and a song request with their cash. You're calling it Donation Roulette.

CDs and tapes sit scattered around you, covered in sticky notes with names, play order, and track numbers.

A song ends, and you get on the mic, picking up CD number 20, track 6. You pop it in and skip ahead.

“Number 20! Big thanks to Dennis Hall for your donation, and a request for one of my all time favorites, ‘Institutionalized’-Suicidal Tendencies. This is the last one before I sign off for tonight, and we’ll have a DJ back on roulette duty first thing tomorrow.”

You smile, finger hovering over the play button.

“All of us here at 98.7 thank you for your support. We can’t do any of this without each other.”

You hit play, and the riff kicks in as you start shutting down. The CDs and tapes are stacked in order for whoever has the morning shift, and you’ve placed a basket underneath the mail slot in case more people drop off money. There’s already another bundle lying on the ground. $20 and a request for Search and Destroy by The Stooges, with the name Marie Parks attached. Your eyes linger on the note for a while, before you add it to the stack with the CD attached, slipping the money into a metal cash box underneath the radio board.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll probably get hit by a car, anyway.

The song comes to a close, and you shut the board down, then the lights, one by one. Quiet. Dark.

The drive home is short, and you unlock the door to your empty apartment. Quiet. Dark.

You'd thought after such a busy day, filled with talking to people and working, that quiet and dark would be what you wanted.

You sit back on your couch, realizing that’s not the case. The absence of people and noise is jarring. Your brain is buzzing. You flip the TV on. You can’t sit still. You check your email and phone, and find nothing from Rodrick on either. You sigh. You don’t want to think the worst, but… what else can you think?

You sit, trying to focus on the mindless sitcom in front of you. Flipping channels, again and again. Nothing catches you. Back out you go.

You walk over to Pyramid, and it’s completely full. This place tends to trend more traditional goth, and the music is proving it. Moody, pumping bass, and girls with teased hair swinging their mesh-sleeved arms.

You see a group of people you recognize, and they yell when they see you. You yell back. As you sit at the table, the doubts start to fade away. You just need people around you right now. And these are good people. Good, good people. Some of the first people you met in this town.

A band called Put Down. Five guys, about five years older than you, Joey, Jake, Gabe, Marcus, and Nick.

They greet you warmly, making room at their table.

Nick- a tall, tall guy, with a high, bouncy sprout of black, curly hair and a beard, grins at you.

“You were so fucking cool on TV.”

“Aw, c’mon, I said one word.” You wave your hand dismissively, bashful.

“Still fucking cool.” He smiles.

A martini glass with a deep purple, glittering liquid is placed in front of you.

“This is called a Musidora. You gotta try it. These goths know what they’re doing.” Joey smiles, a small, stocky ginger with a nose ring.

You sip it. It's incredible. It tastes… purple. You don't know how else to describe it. You finish it, and order another.

Before you know it, you’ve had… 4, maybe? You can’t even remember. You’re having too much fun. It seems like every band in the city got the memo that this was the place to be, and everyone is up and swishing their arms like the goth girls.

You laugh, spinning, the purple lights of the room glinting around you. Every face is familiar, and you feel the best that you have all day. There’s one face that seems to be missing, though. You look for him, but he isn’t there. Your spin slows, and you still your movements, dizzy.

As the bad thoughts start to creep in, you’re saved by someone grabbing your hand and delicately twirling you. You sigh with relief. He’s here, you knew he’d show up eventually. Plus, the two of you actually pulled off a spin!

“I was waiting for you, why didn’t you call me?” You shout over the music as you turn towards him, and his arm coils around you.

A drunken grin spreads across your face as you land against his chest, in his arms, and…

It’s not him.

You frown, looking up.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.” He smiles.

Your eyes widen. It’s your ex.

“...Andy?”

He grins. You start to wiggle out of his hold.

Andy is the first person you'd ever dated in this town, all the way back in your borderline crust punk house show days. He’s a beautiful man, with turquoise eyes and tan skin, a sharp, stubbled jaw. His hair is different; what used to be a high pompadour is now a feathery, chin-length cut. He looks down at you lovingly, and for just a second, you let yourself remember the good times.

You’d been a wreck in your younger days, and as much as you tried to discourage him, he seemed fascinated by you. He just kept following you around, and eventually, you let him in. Late night walks down to the water, 40z beers in hand, running from the cops. He’d kissed you for the first time in the woods, underneath a full moon, and made you feel like a person again.

Then the betrayal.

It started with little whispers all over town.

You got your first job, and your co-worker couldn’t stop gushing about her boyfriend, Andy.

It had to be a coincidence. It's not like Andy is an uncommon name. Yeah. You were being crazy.

But then it happened again. And you were so scared, so hesitant to cut one of your only lifelines in this town.

Then you caught him.

He’d given you a spare key to his apartment, which is really a stupid move if you’re gonna cheat, and you came in late from work.

You saw them, right there on the couch. Undeniably nude bodies, shrouded in shadows. The girl screamed when you opened the door.

You’d burst into tears on the spot.

Fuck you, you bastard!

She'd realized what was happening and laughed at you. Andy didn’t say a thing. You ran off, slamming the door, and you never saw him again.

Until now.

“You looked hot on the news today,” He smirks.

You wrench his arm off of you, mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Get away from me.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he reaches for you, “You were excited a second ago.”

“Because I thought you were someone else.” You hiss, slapping his hand away.

You feel something threaten to break within you. You’ve worked so hard over the years to form this calm, stable shell. You pride yourself on staying cool and getting shit done. Seeing Andy, combined with expecting Rodrick, and 4 or 5 of those purple martinis, just put a crack in that shell.

“I miss you,” He gives you a sad look, “C'mon, let's just hang out, no pressure.”

“No fucking way!” You laugh, bitter, feeling shakier by the second.

“I’ve changed.” He takes you gently by the shoulders.

“I don’t care.” You push him away from you, “It’s been years.”

“I just thought it had been long enough to try again.” His eyes are so sad, but you don’t buy it for a second.

You cross your arms, staying silent, frowning at him.

“Are you really with someone else?” His face drops.

“Yeah. Well, kinda. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. Either way, I don’t want you anymore.”

He looks down, his expression hurt. Good. When he looks back up at you, there's a smug look on his face, and a meanness in his eyes.

“So, what I'm getting is... you met a guy, maybe even slept with him, and you want to be with him, but he hasn't called you? And you're totally freaking out, because you're worried you're letting him walk all over you?”

You stare at him, arms still crossed, still slightly wobbly. You narrow your eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Andy.”

You disappear into the crowd, hearing him yell wait!, but you don’t go back.

It can’t be true. Rodrick is not walking all over you. It’s only been one day, and something is clearly going on with him, anyway. Andy has no idea what he’s talking about, even if he had been scarily accurate. He hadn't been there. You nod, stumbling through the crowd as you try to convince yourself in your mind. One by one, you find all your friends and let them know you’re leaving.

You exit the bar, and see Nick leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“You heading out?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, walking up to him.

He reaches out to give you a side hug.

“Alright. Hey, festival’s on in a month. You're in. We're gonna put you late in the day on Saturday.”

“For real? Hell yeah,” You smile, his words breaking you out of your funk.

“I'll let you know when everything's all worked out. See you around, D.”

You wave as you walk back to your apartment, trying to get Andy and Rodrick and whatever else out of your head and focus on the positives.

Even if Andy was right, even if Rodrick never calls you again…

You're playing at a music festival in a month. No dumb guy can take that away from you.

~

“Welcome to the team, kid!” The man who runs the plant, Buck, claps Rodrick on the back, “Now comes your initiation.”

“My… what?” Rodrick looks up, putting his paperwork on the top of a stack on Buck’s desk.

“You gotta come out with us!”

Buck is a large man, hairy and menacing, dressed in a worn-out old work shirt over a ratty white tank top.

“Out?” Rodrick gulps, “I’m kind of trying to avoid, like, the bars downtown and stuff…”

“Downtown?” Buck spits, “No, no, we’re not going downtown. We go to Johnny’s, it’s on this side of town. It’s for the guys, not those weirdos, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Rodrick frowns.

“Weirdos? They’re not weirdos, it’s just-”

“Ricky.” Buck takes him by the shoulders.

“Rodrick,” He corrects.

“I’m callin’ you Ricky. And all of those people down there? Grade A weirdos. Trust me. Now c’mon!” Buck shakes him.

Rodrick hesitates, looking at Buck’s red face.

“Uh… okay, fine.”

“That’s the spirit, buddy! Follow me, it’s not far.”

Rodrick pulls up to a cinderblock dive bar in a dirt lot, with overgrown brush sprouting up around the edges. The neon sign is green, half-dead, and flashing. Inside, it’s dark. Dollar bills hang from the walls, with profanities and funny faces scribbled over the markings. Old blues rock blasts from the speakers. Rodrick sits at the end, next to Buck, and guys in various work clothes line the rest of the bar. Everyone chatters, yelling and laughing, and Rodrick tries his best to pretend he’s paying attention whenever Buck nudges him. When they’re not looking, he finds himself staring at the bubbles in his beer mug, feeling completely out of body.

This feels weird. It feels wrong. He thought this would just be a job, but now he’s hanging out with these guys? These guys, with their sweaty beards, barking like dogs at the bartender? At the vintage beer ads with pinup girls that line the walls? He can't believe Buck had really had the nerve to call other people weirdos. He makes sure to tip the poor girl behind the bar as much as he possibly can, hearing your voice ring painfully in his head, flashing her apologetic looks.

“She looks pretty wild, eh, Ricky?”

Rodrick looks where Buck is pointing. It’s an old poster of a woman with feathered hair, in a low-cut top and daisy dukes, sitting with a beer bottle in between her legs. He doesn’t answer right away. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say.

“Uh. Yeah, she looks pretty, uh, wild? I guess?” He grimaces.

The guys around him all hoot and holler at his answer. Rodrick looks down the bar, bewildered. Is it really this easy? To be a… guy, as Buck had said?

He keeps downing mugs of watery beer, as the men keep cheering. Soon, he’s drunk, in a game of pool, against a guy who is absolutely schooling him.

“We’re not gonna put any money on the line, Ricky, we wouldn’t do that to you.” Buck laughs.

Rodrick sways, lining up his cue on the table.

“Now, once he gets his first paycheck, that’s a different story!”

Everybody laughs.

He sinks one ball, then fails horribly, as the men around him laugh. Hours seem to go by, as everybody kicks his ass in pool. Maybe this is what Buck had meant by ‘initiation’?

Eventually, he finds himself giving his keys to a large man in overalls.

“You said you lived downtown? I’ll drive you, don’t want the cops on your ass.” His voice is deep, grumbly.

Rodrick nods, nearly passing out as he’s driven home in his own van. The man parks outside his apartment complex.

“I’m Vaughn, by the way.” Vaughn tosses Rodrick his keys, laughing, “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re up.”

Rodrick gives a weak wave, shoving his keys into his pocket and stumbling up to his apartment.

“Where have you been?” Ward sits on the couch, legs crossed.

“Got a job.” Rodrick slurs, hanging up his jacket by the door.

“Dude, your girlfriend is so cool.” Ward doesn’t seem to notice, instead grinning at the TV.

He freezes, feeling his heart jump out of his chest.

Rodrick is stunned as he sees you, almost letting himself smile. Then he sees the rage burning in your eyes, looking straight into the camera as Mike rambles and a crowd cheers behind you.

It feels like you're looking right at him.

Guilt washes over him, and he wobbles on his feet.

“She's… not my girlfriend.” Rodrick walks off, shutting himself in the bathroom.

~

She tries not to shatter, kaleidoscope style

Personality changes behind her red smile

Every new problem brings a stranger inside

Helplessly forcing one more new disguise

~

tag list: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

[b-afterhours]

Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avenue of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

The completed first series can be read and found here.

Chapter Eighteen

May 1993  The Day of the Secret Show

Alma was yawning loudly while sitting on top of the cash wrap counter before having another sip from her coffee cup. It was seven am, and she had already been there for an hour along with Darby, who turned up to help. Their schedules as managers were flipped and overlapped on a day like today. Only the band's sound mixer had arrived, and after Darby had finished helping him bring in his equipment, he was now double-checking the employee schedule. All employees were expected to have a shift—even the four part-time high school students. 

They had left the back door open, and they both peered over when they heard some commotion to see a roadie wave at them and announce the presence of the others, all carrying a piece of musical equipment. 

“Shit,” Darby said under his breath as he turned to lean back on the counter. “That’s their stuff.” He was checking out their worn guitars, adorned with faded stickers and random splotches of spray paint.

“They’re probably coming right after they set up.” Alma smiled as the excitement built inside her. “You sure Lewis isn’t showing up for this? I know I asked before I left last night, but did he tell you anything different?” 

Darby nodded understandingly. “He said he’s just coming for the show. Said, he had other things to attend to.” 

“Right, right,” Alma nodded. “I want Echo to take a pic with them after their sound check,” she smiled.  

She had brought her professional camera with her. And now she was thinking she should have dressed up better. She knew what she’d wear to the gig, but it was too early to want to get dressed for this. She was just in loose, ripped-up jeans and had tied the hem of a plain white shirt to form better with her body because it belonged to Bill.

“Me too?” Darby chuckled. 

“I’ll take yours with them too,” she laughed. 

Bill was parked out front in the Jeep while Echo continued sleeping in her car seat. He was keeping a lookout for Lewis and waiting for a signal to come in from Alma. The radio volume was shallow when he ejected the strange ethereal music that was playing on the cassette. He took a look at it, Cocteau Twins. The music was pretty, but it wasn’t helping him want to stay awake under the overcast skies. He swore they weren’t really saying any real words, but sometimes he thought he heard a phrase or two. He turned the radio on at some shock jock station after putting it away in its case.

Inside the record shop, Alma had met the band's manager, Dean, in the backstage area. He was checking the place out, asking questions about ticket sales and what the maximum capacity of the venue was. 

“And I see you have what they requested. But the ice?” He turned to her as he clasped his hands in front of him. 

“It’ll be here by the time they perform.” 

“Good, ‘cause we want the beers cold,” he gestured towards the cases. “And at least half the water ice cold, and the other half room temp’.” 

“Right. Anything else?” She raised her brows. 

He smiled wryly. “Nope. They’ll be here in about 30 minutes,” he said, checking his expensive wristwatch. “They’re only sound-checking three songs. This place opens for business at 9 am?” Alma nodded. “Okay, that gives them time to get in and get out then.” 

“And for the gig? How would they like to be introduced, or what’s the plan there?” She asked, looking at how his eggplant-colored silk shirt ripped as she followed him out to the stage area.

“These curtains close right,” he asked, lightly tugging on the thick braided rope holding one half back. 

“They do—be careful.” She said a bit too motherly when she saw the rope wanting to loosen. He quickly tugged the knot tighter before it did. 

He lightly laughed as if he meant to do that, but it was clear he was visibly embarrassed by his near mishap. “Um, make sure these are closed before the roadies leave while the place operates. I don’t want equipment missing.” Alma nodded a bit annoyed because, of course, she knew to do that. “Anyway, the band will come in a nondescript van, so please make sure there’s a spot for it right outside the backstage door where they’ll come in about ten minutes after their set show time.”

“Creating anticipation,” Alma smirked. 

“Right,” he said dryly. “I have a guest list here,” he said, digging in his jeans pocket. “A few journalists.” Alma opened the printed paper he passed and saw the large publications they worked for right next to their names. “And a few radio hosts.”

“Um,” Darby said loudly by the exit door, looking a little starstruck. “Hey, what’s up? They’re here.” 

Bill was outside and could hear the muffled sound of cranked-up guitars and heavily booming drums from the shop, even where he was parked with the windows down. Echo was now in the front seat, sitting on his lap, and eating dry Cheerios from his large cupped hand. He was anxiously bobbing his knee up and down, and his signal to enter finally came. The neon open sign flickered on and off for him several times. 

He squeezed through the door while Alma quickly locked it behind him after she handed him Echo’s noise-canceling headphones. Dean, who was standing by the sound mixer, turned his head and gave the tall man with a child an odd look until he saw him kiss the shop girl. He wanted to remind her that this was a private soundcheck, but seeing her now next to her partner intimidated him. Of course, a girl like her would be with someone just as good-looking, and it irked him. 

Echo was clapping her little hands to the band's most popular single as they closed out their short soundcheck session. And it felt totally surreal to experience such a thing with less than ten other people in the room. They have been on MTV, constantly played on the radio, and received several accolades and awards, including a coveted Grammy. They have been on a continuous international tour, and yet here they were.

“That’s really them,” Bill chuckled lightly in disbelief after their song ended. 

“It’s a fucking trip, man,” Darby responded under his breath. 

They all stood at the back end of the concert floor and off to the side. Twice, Alma had to tug Darby back by the shoulder because it was as if the music had some pull on him, and he kept inching towards the stage. The wiry, sleepy-eyed, disheveled-haired lead singer was now crouched down with his guitar, giving some corrective notes to their sound mixer. 

“But, uh, yeah, I think that’s all good, man,” the lead singer said in a nearly bored vocal fry tone, but it just seemed as if that was just his natural deposition. “Who’s running the show, Dean? One of you two, right?” He pointed between Alma and Darby, looking at them through his locks of greasy, disheveled hair. 

“It’s the baby, man.” The shaggy-haired bassist playfully joked. 

The lead singer lightly chuckled. “I got one of those, too. But, uh, it’s you,” he pointed at Alma. “Your buddy is there, pointing at you.” 

She glanced down and saw that Darby was indeed pointing at her. “Yeah, I’m Alma.” 

“Alma. I like that.” He tapped his stubbly chin for a second. “Means soul in Spanish. Am I right?” 

“It does.” Bill glanced down at her and noticed her blush lightly. “Uh, would you guys be okay with taking a few pictures?” 

“We have to leave in like ten minutes, guys,” Dean said, seemingly wanting to exude some type of control like he had been since he’d shown up. Bill frowned, dissatisfied with the guy’s self-important attitude. 

“And could you all sign these records?” Darby quickly added, taking the bundle out from under his arm.

“I think that’s all the time we need. Isn’t that right, Alma?” He said, flashing her a crooked, boyish grin. 

“Plenty,” she said, smiling back.

“Sweet. Pictures, then we’ll sign.” 

They all quickly shook all the band members' hands before taking pictures of them outside the front of the building. Alma crouched down to get the shop name in the frame for a couple of shots before leading them to the back of the building for more privacy. Darby happily took his turn taking photos with them against the brick wall with a wide, elated grin. He was usually an even-mannered guy, but it was funny seeing him behave like this. Having his fan moment. 

“Could you take one with my daughter?” Alma asked, gesturing to her still in her father’s arms.

“Yeah, sure.” The lead singer said and then Bill passed her along for him to hold. “She looks about my daughter's age. What’s her name?” 

“Echo.” 

“Echo, echoo, echooo.” Their tall, slinky drummer imitated as if he were hollering into a cave. 

"Yeah, that’s a good one,” Alma sarcastically said, pointing her camera at them. It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard all the jokes at Trigger Finger before. 

Echo was touching the lead singer's tan cardigan; its fibers were all worn, fuzzed out, most likely reminding the little girl of her stuffed animals. Alma snapped some shots of their interaction before calling her name several times, which incidentally added to the drummer's joke. Nonetheless, she gained her attention, and luckily she smiled brightly, which seemed to charm the lead singer, making him crack his cool exterior and give a little smirk.

“Okay, family photo time for my bad joke,” the drummer suggested as he gave Bill a nod. 

“We got less than 5 minutes, guys,” Dean impatiently reminded them as he stood off to the side with his arms crossed. 

Alma passed her camera to Darby and quickly moved in place with the band. The lead singer, still holding her daughter, had waved her over to him, and he put his arm around the middle of her back.

“Uh, I-” Bill began to say, but Alma cut her eyes at him. “Okay.” He relented and stood at the bassist's side. He kind of felt a bit dorky doing this kind of thing. Sure, they were world-famous, but his story of meeting them and seeing them live made a better story than a picture, he thought. 

“Okay, okay. One more, but with me and Darby this time, and I’ll let you all free.” 

“Go for it,” the lead singer said, much to his manager's dismay. 

After Bill took their photo with one hand while holding Echo, the band stuck around even as they were herded towards the white commercial van they arrived in by their haughty band manager. The band, even with their fame, came across as very gracious. 

“This one you want made out to you too?” The lead singer asked Darby, as he passed the other records he signed to his bandmates, to do so as well. 

“That’s Alma’s copy.” He said, stepping aside for her. 

“To Alma,” he smirked at her before writing with a silver magic marker. “See you guys at the show. It’s good to be home,” he said, climbing into the van once the band was finished signing and giving fan service. 

…

Alma was at home with her family until three pm to switch shifts with Darby until he’d come back before the show. His taking the morning shift made more sense since she was going to be busy with the show that evening. 

Bill and Alma had been in bed for an afternoon nap after putting Echo down for hers. She had woken up with Bill caressing her. His hand was inside her panties making lazy circles with his two middle digits, while she lightly ground her bottom on his crotch. The movement stimulated both him and assisted his hand with his ministrations. Satisfied, shallow breaths began to fill the air around them. When he kissed her shoulder and trailed up her neck, she smiled. Reaching back to hold the back of his head, she turned to meet his pouty lips with her own. 

Bill was hard-pressed against her, enjoying how she pushed her bottom flush  against him. Sliding his hand across her hip, he pushed her panties down, and without so much as a prompt, she lifted her leg to place over his hip behind her. She glided her hand out of his hair, reaching down to pull him out of his boxers, and stroked his stiff cock a few times until he took over. He pushed in, and she let out a gratified gasp as he stretched her. 

She could feel her stress and anxieties about the day ahead chip away the more his thrusts built up to an even and determined rhythm. He slipped out of her, but that gave her time to take her shirt off as he greedily swept his dick along her slick folds. His lusty eyes fluttered closed at the sensation.

“Harder,” she moaned when he thrust back inside her. “Fuck me harder.” 

He grunted as he picked his pace, and her satisfied moans became more emphatic and erratic. He bent the arm her head lay on and put his fingers in her mouth to stifle them. Her lips wrapped around them, and he felt a low moan reverberate around them.  

“Ah, fuck,” Bill grunted through clenched teeth, feeling her velvet walls constrict around him. 

The ridge of the head of his cock was stroking against that utterly deep spot within her, and she tensed, feeling the buildup of an orgasm. She unlatched her mouth from his fingers as her head fell back. Bill’s head bowed to look at her blushed face, her sweetly furrowed brows, and gaping mouth. She looked back at him, putting a hand on his high cheek, and a needy yet bewildered look flashed across her eyes. She was going to come, and so quickly too. He pushed her leg that was draped across his hip and held it against her body with his forearm for leverage while his hand reached to rub her clit and plowed into her then, seizing his opportunity. Her eyes rolled back, and she cried out in ecstasy. His hips rocked into her then, as if to coax every ripple and wave he could feel. She wasn’t thinking of her neighbors, and neither was he when he let loose inside her. Pumping everything he had. 

Her body went limp, and so did his as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, trying to catch his ragged breath. 

They remained connected and cuddled afterward, not yet wanting to leave their blissful bubble. He had his arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her tightly as she softly ran her fingers through his arm hair. 

“He was flirting with you,” Bill said huskily, speaking into her wild hair after he had been nuzzling his face in it. 

“Who?” 

“You know who? ‘It means soul in Spanish, right’,” he playfully mocked the lead singer’s slow way of speaking.

“Please,” she giggled. He could feel the reflex of it with him still inside her, which made him smile. While his softening cock was sensitive, it still felt lovely to him. “He was just being nice.” 

“Yeah, maybe if he were a regular guy, but he’s a rockstar.” 

“He’s married to a model, and they have a kid. I don’t think you should take his politeness as a slight.” 

“I’m not threatened.” He said possessively, tightening his grip around her, but it made Alma laugh because he somewhat was. “Him being married and having a kid is probably for tax purposes only anyway.” 

“Yeah, yeah. He’s a rockstar; I get it.” She playfully rolled her eyes. 

“Since working at the shop and all the gigs you’ve seen, have you ever?” 

“Really?” She groaned, side-eyeing him behind her. 

“I’m just curious. I don’t care, you’ve always been mine.” She was silent, contemplating whether she wanted to be a smartass or not. “You have,” he said, figuring out the answer for himself and laughing.

“Why is that so funny?” She was annoyed. “Yes, I have. That’s a long time ago now, around the time I began working there.” 

“It’s just so… cliche.” 

“Shut up,” she tried to say with some bite, but her amusement leaked through. 

“Have you done it with anyone I’ve maybe listened to?” He chuckled. “Ow, fuck,” he said when she gripped onto a patch of his arm hair and pulled harshly. 

…

Alma was at work after helping with some final rearranging with her coworkers. Bill was off at the plaza down the road, with Echo killing sometime before heading home so they could both get dressed for the evening. 

Customers in the store were looking on curiously; they had never seen much prep for a show before. Some even asked employees at the cash wrap where Double Helix’s records were to see what the fuss was about. They were annoyed when they were told their albums were “sold out” but they should buy a ticket if they wanted to give them a listen. Smart ones did; others left in an annoyed huff. 

Time was ticking down. Darby had shown up to the shop much earlier than Alma expected him to. Which made her glance at the store clock with alarm, thinking it was much closer to show time. 

“Hey, I got the ice!” He winked at her, remembering her little faux pas from yesterday. “Matt’s grabbing them and the coolers from my truck. He’ll set that all up. And, uh, there’s a line starting outside already,” he informed, shrugging off his tan corduroy jacket and draping it over his forearm. “Short one for now, but that’s earlier than normal.” 

“Alright.” Alma nodded. “Let’s run down the tasks with everyone, and then,” she said, looking around the store, which was quite busy with customers. 

“We should get everyone the hell out?” 

“Yeah,” she laughed. 

“Let’s go,” he said, excitedly clapping his hands together. 

He rounded up the employees at the circular cash wrap and started assigning their positions. Alma stood by his side, listening on, holding onto her camera. 

“Shit! Am I late?!” Ulyssa said right as she walked in, gripping on to her tote as she scurried over. She was wearing a light blue tartan two-piece and combat boots. 

Alma smiled, waving her over. “You look cute! We just started early.” 

“Oh! Okay. Sorry Darb’.” She hushed bashfully.

“I just have one more thing. Teenagers,” he said, looking over at them. “As the law says, you have to clock out at 9 pm. You can stay for the show, but I’m asking all the adults to keep an eye on them.” The teens sneered with annoyance.

“I’m seventeen, not seven.” A young, chubby girl named Chrissy snarkily said it in age-old teen fashion. 

“Sure,” Darby smirked, unaffected. "Alma, do you have anything?” 

“Uhm,” she straightened up. “I know some of you asked about a guest list. There is one. But,” she stressed. “We’re allowing one per employee.” The teen collective groaned. They were the ones who pestered her the most about it. “I’ve spoken to a few of you individually today. So I have those names down. Anyone else, I need those names by the end of the hour. And yeah, that’s it.” Everyone began to disband then. “Oh! Wait! A picture first since we’re all here.” 

There were some gripes heard as they all shuffled back to place in front of the cash wrap, but they were all smiles as she took a couple of photos.

"Alma, you should be in it,” Ash said. “You!” She startled a boy at the magazine stand. He sheepishly turned to her. “Yes, you. Could you take a picture of us?” 

Alma quickly instructed the boy on how to take the photo and joined her crew. The door chimed, and Darby looked over and saw that it was Lewis with a big grin approaching.  

“Could I hop in?” He said inserting himself in for a photo. 

Once their employee photo shoot was over and Darby and the other boys ushered customers out of the shop, Lewis asked his crew to regroup by the cash wrap again. 

“Look at you guys,” he said appreciatively with his hands held behind his back. “Uh, I know a lot is going on tonight. But I have some news.” 

“I hope it’s good,” Matt quipped. 

Lewis chuckled. “I’ll start there then. So the good news is, everyone gets tomorrow off with pay.” People cheered, but all Alma did was smile because she was always off on Sundays, but getting paid was nice. “I also hired a cleaning crew for tonight, so you all don’t have to fuss with that after all your hard work tonight. And on to some not-so-good news. Maybe.”

Darby looked down at Alma with a knowing look. They both knew what he was going to announce and were now anxious about how everyone else would react. However, they were relieved that they didn’t have to bear the responsibility of delivering the news themselves.

“Well, as you know, I’m about half retired. But I’ve decided, along with my wife Helen, that it is time for me to step away.” A few scattered gasps were heard. “I’m in the process of selling Sheisty Sound.” 

“Selling?!” Gregory said, shocked. 

“Yes. I am hoping to find a buyer who will respect what has already been established here. But also make it something a bit more fresh.” His eyes became a bit misty, but he composed himself very well. “I appreciate you all very much, and I’m so excited for this show tonight. I think it’s a good last hoorah for me. I see this place evolving in a great direction even without me in it.” Darby patted his shoulder, feeling a little sentimental himself. “But, ah, yeah,” he let out a shaky sigh. “I wanted you all to hear it from me. I feel like I owe you all that much. And since that was such a downer, I bought pizza from Von’s for everyone here for dinner. Should be delivered soon.” 

After employees spoke to Lewis, some congratulating him on a well-deserved full retirement and others practically giving him condolences, he got the attention of his two managers. He looked at the two rather stylish young leaders. Darby had slicked his dark hair back instead of styling it in the usual bouffant he did. He looked like a 1940s blue-collar working man, with high trousers and a well-pressed button-down and Alma in a tight black ¾ sleeve denim jumpsuit. It was only zipped up enough to show some cleavage, and her hair was in a loose, playful updo with long curtain bangs.

“You two look great! Is there anything you guys may need from me tonight, or is everything all square?” Lewis asked. 

“Nah, I think everything has been settled.” Darby nodded.

“Ah, you two make my job too easy,” he chuckled. “And Alma,” she nodded at his acknowledgment. “You’ve hired security, correct?”

“Um, yes. A local motorcycle club. The Wayward Sons. They do charity drives for children with special needs and also Christmas toy donation rallies. Their chapter leader has a securities business, WS Security, so they’re experienced.” That she lied about. 

When she had to inform them that they couldn’t set up their illegal bar, Big Rod wasn’t too pleased. Mostly because he didn’t want to be paid with a check because he didn’t want taxes garnished from it, but Alma assured him that she could arrange that they get cash. Which would be her paying them out, taking the check they would have gotten, and eat the taxes herself.

“Yeah… I know of them, decent guys. I used to date a Wayward Son’s sister,” he chuckled at the memory. “Okay, well, I’m going home to freshen up, and I’ll be back about an hour before nine. Oh,” he snapped his fingers. “I overheard some employees giving you names for a guest list, Alma.” 

“Yeah! Do you want me to add Helen?” She asked, holding her clipboard up and plucking a pen from behind her ear.

“She didn’t travel with me, unfortunately, but there’s a gentleman I’d like to add. His name is Bill Scarsgord.” 

“Mhmm.” Alma had to use everything in her power to keep from visibly grimacing at the butchering of his last name. 

“I’ll spell it for you. S-K-A...” It was even harder to keep herself from completing the spelling before he could finish reciting it. “Yeah, there you go,” he said when she finished writing. “He’s a rather tall guy. A little taller than Darby. Uh, big eyes, short styled hair, dresses pretty sharp. But he’s tall,” he said again, running out of descriptors. “You’ll see him.”

“We’ll look out for him,” Darby said with a slight smirk.  

“Great. I’ll see you all soon,” he said as he glanced at his wristwatch. “Pizza should be here soon. I left the tip with Ash.” 

…

The makeshift box office was really just three white folding tables built into a horseshoe shape underneath an instant canopy in front of the door. Ulyssa, Gregory, and Chrissy were the first group assigned to operate it. On one side, people with prepaid tickets lined up along the storefront, and another smaller line directly across was for day-of tickets. Bill, with Echo in his arms and the baby’s backpack over his shoulder, passed a loitering group of teens playing with a hacky sack and lined up right in front where there was a written sign that said ‘Guestlist Only’. Alma had called him just before he left the apartment to inform him that Lewis had added him to the list. He was on it just by word, but that Lewis added him personally, he felt good about. There were two others in front of him wearing press passes on lanyards. He didn’t want to be rude by passing them up and just walking in, so he waited. Ulyssa was counting out change for a customer buying a ticket when she glanced over, noticing him. 

“What’s your name?” The young girl, Chrissy, whom he had never met before, asked him when it was his turn.

“Hold on, Chrissy.” Ulyssa took the clipboard and pretended to peruse the listed names. “I don’t see your name here.” She peered at him from over her blue-tinted sunglasses, and he noticed her eyes were super bloodshot. Stoned beyond belief. And taking a glance at Gregory, so was he. 

“I never said it,” he smirked. 

“Fuck. Never mind, just come in,” she laughed. “Hey, cutie girl!” She said to Echo, to which she smiled. 

Walking in, he did his best to weave between some concertgoers who were congregated close to the front door. With his height, he was able to spot Alma, who was chatting with Ratz, or rather, he was talking at her while she adjusted a tarp that was covering a record table. Every shelf or table had been covered with a tarp or old sheets to protect the merchandise. As he got closer, he noticed Ratz's shirt had “Motherfucker” stenciled with red spray paint on it. He raised a brow, because what did he mean by that exactly?

“Hey, I’m running to the store for energy drinks,” Matt, whom he met very briefly at The Rooster, announced to his coworkers who were scattered about. “Who wants one?” 

He saw Alma turn her head, ignoring Ratz completely and saying she wanted one. Matt quickly took a count, dismissing the random patrons who also asked for one, and spun on his heel as he put on the headphones attached to his Walkman. Alma saw Bill then and smiled brightly.

“My boyfriend’s here,” she said, brushing off Ratz without so much as a glance, and he just begrudgingly shuffled away. “Hey, guestlist! Hey baby,” she said, kissing her daughter's cheek. “You dressed her up so cute!” She tickled her side, which made Echo snicker. She was in a carnation pink dress with little embroidered daisies on the front. “Was she good?” She looked up at him.

Bill nodded with a pursed-lip smile because he wasn’t going to tell her he caught Echo with his shoe in her mouth while he was trying to get ready himself. He had to brush her teeth before they left. 

“Did you have fun with Daddy, E’?” She said kissing her again, and then she tiptoed to kiss Bill. 

“Papa,” she said happily, in the only way she could answer. 

“You’re in a better mood,” he said, grinning at her while his hand caressed her waist. He had liked how she looked in this new outfit she showed off to him at the apartment. She had made him cinch the rope belt as tight as she could handle. She has had to loosen it some since then, though.

She grinned back at him knowingly. It seemed that Bill had maybe spoken too soon when suddenly Matt came barging in the front door and slammed into a local newspaper stand by the front door rather cartoonishly. It immediately caused Bill to turn Echo away from the door protectively, unsure of what happened behind him. 

“Ah, fuck!” Matt choked out, holding onto his groin. “Ash!” He pointed at her, where she was behind the circular cash wrap. “Turn the radio on right now! BUZ’R FM! Right Now!” 

“What’s going on, Matt?” Darby asked, striding over from the sound mixing table where he was speaking to the operator. 

“They’re talking about the show!” 

“What?” Alma said, confused. 

Ash was scrambling to switch the sound system over to the radio and over the store speakers, and suddenly the radio jockey's voice cut through across the airwaves. 

“We’ve given you two hints since our program started, and it’s almost time for us to get off the air. Have you figured it out?” 

Alma’s brows furrowed with worry and confusion. “What the fuck are they doing?” 

“This mysterious Double Helix is playing at Sheisty Sound Records tonight that we still haven’t found a record for. Isn’t that odd?” The jockey coyly asked. “Oh, wait a second, wait a second. No, here it is. Here’s your next hint.” The sound of scratchy guitar chords opened the most popular record-breaking single by the world-famous band playing there tonight. There was no confusion about it.

Alma's eyes widened as she gasped loudly; even Darby’s stomach flipped. 

“Holy shit, Alma,” Bill said, maybe with more elation than he meant to. But this was going to be big. 

"See, I told you! I told you I figured it out reading that zine!” A concertgoer with wine colored hair could be heard talking to his group of friends. 

“So... are we fucked?” Darby asked Alma, who seemed to be in thought or maybe shock; he couldn’t tell. 

“No…” she said, sounding a bit uncertain, looking at the store clock. “Big Rod is coming pretty soon with his guys. There’ll be eight of them tonight.

“Maybe we’ll need two more?” 

“I’ll tell him that when he gets here. It’s all just a matter of getting everyone in and…” She trailed off, putting her hand up. “I need to talk to Ulyssa,” she said, hustling away, leaving Bill and her child behind without a word, but he understood. 

“Uh, it’s going to be alright, right?” Bill asked Darby, who seemed to be in thought as well. “I mean, it gets pretty rowdy here, even for a local gig.” 

Darby took a deep breath. “Yeah. This just feels so much bigger, but Alma knows how to run this. She’s good at this. But, uh, I gotta make my rounds with everyone.” He was hustling away as well. 

“People with tickets first,” Alma explained to Ulyssa while Gregory and Chrissy listened. “Besides the guest list, everyone else has to wait until we get all those people in.” 

The revving of motorcycles could be heard up the road, and she was grateful for their deafening motors. It was like a cavalry arrived when they pulled into the reserved parking space made for them. 

“Hey, here for duty,” Big Rod said, tipping his weathered cowboy hat as he approached. “Where do you need us?” 

“I think BUZ’R blew your spot up,” Zeph quipped from beside Rod. 

“Yeah, about that. You think you can get maybe a few more of your guys?” She said to Big Rod. 

He nodded. “May I use the phone?” 

“Yes, yes. Please. For now, I need one of you out here. Um, Darby will let you guys know your places.” 

“Of course, Miss Lucio,” Rod said with a polite nod. 

Archie positioned himself in the box office while Big Rod led the rest of the crew inside. 

“Okay, Gregory, do you have the clicker?” He picked the steel people counter from the table to show her he did. “What’s the number?” The day of line was still fairly short, but for how long she didn’t know.

“Uh, twenty-seven?” Gregory said. 

“What?” Alma brows furrowed, baffled.” Twenty-seven? There’s more than– you’ve only been counting day-of tickets?” 

“Uhm, I see now how that was dumb...” he looked rather regretful.  

Alma shook her head while she quickly added that number to the pre-sold tickets and the guest list. “Set the clicker to 146. Once you’re able to start selling tickets again, start counting how many bodies come in. We can’t go past 232, or the fire marshal will shut us down. And with us working we’re pushing it, so please pay attention.” 

“Shit, Alma, you think it’s going to get crazy?” Ulyssa asked, looking worried. 

“We’ll do what we always do,” Alma assured. “Tonight will just be busier.” She tried to sound positive, but inside she wanted to scream. 

Bill was inside, and most of the patrons in the store area had now begun to bunch and congregate closer to the stage, wanting to claim their spot. He was crouched down with his back against the wall just outside the office, with Echo standing between his knees as he took the wrapper off a tiny yellow bendy strap before stabbing it into the designated foil-covered hole of the apple juice box. She took the slobbery fingers she was chewing on from her mouth and wiped them on his jeans before taking it. 

He was rubbing the slobbery spot on his knee into the denim when the front door blew open, and he caught a glimpse of Alma speaking to someone in line, but didn’t look too pleased before the pizza delivery boy came in with a tall stack of pizza boxes. The bangles on Ash’s wrist chimed as she waved him over to the cash wrap and happily accepted them. He heard the pizza boy ask her if the band was really playing there tonight and that he heard so on the kitchen radio at his job. 

“For real?” He said when Ash confirmed it as she tried to give him his tip. “I’ll let you keep that if I can stay.” 

“Aren’t you still technically at work?” Ash said, giving him a strange look. 

“Fuck that,” he scoffed. “Can I stay?” He asked again, taking his work cap off and brushing his flat hair out with his fingers.

“I guess?” She shrugged, watching him pull off his red work shirt and sling it over his shoulder before smoothing down his greasy undershirt as he jogged over to the stage. 

Alma walked in, looking rather perturbed, but Darby caught her attention as she walked in. Being a spectator at something like this was really strange for Bill. He ran his club and had hectic nights. Though maybe it had never had this much public buzz, things at Trigger Finger were rather discrete. He watched how hard Alma worked at Trigger Finger, but this was different, and even though he could tell she was swamped, she ran with the radio jockey curveball just fine. He noticed the people with tickets were filing in with more frequency than before. He had some space for himself and his daughter, but he worried for how long.

Bill looked up from where he was as Alma approached her family with two slices of cheese pizza for them on a flimsy paper plate. 

“Here you go,” she said, sitting down on the floor next to him. The cool floor seemed to soothe her nerves and ground her a bit. 

“You’re not going to eat?” He said as he was piecing apart a slice for his daughter. 

“I might barf if I do,” she sighed and rested her head on his arm. 

“Ah, Papa,” Echo said, opening her mouth and wanting to be fed. He handed her a piece when Alma decided to get back up to work so suddenly.

"Hey," he said, looking up at her. “It’s like any other show, right?” he assured. “If I could help–” 

“I know. Thanks,” she leaned down to kiss the top of his head. He unabashedly nudged his head into her cleavage, taking advantage of the proximity. “This starts the part where I don’t know you.” She whispered in his ear and hated how it sounded. He only nodded, not liking that he’d have to treat her like a stranger from this point on.

“Mama, eeksa.” Echo had her hand out, offering a piece of cheese pizza to her mother, but she had already walked away to tend to things. 

Bill smiled at her empathy. “Sweet girl,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

Shortly later, Echo decided she was finished with her slice of pizza and continued drinking her juice. He had given his slice to some random who gladly took it off his hands. If Alma wasn’t eating, he didn’t feel comfortable eating either. Together, they went to the other side of the store, further away from the front door, as the place filled up. 

“Echo, stay close,” he said before she strayed off as she was weaving between his legs where he stood.

He did a double take when he turned his head and saw Darby with his arm around his fiancee, Jennifer, speaking to Lewis. The place was getting packed, and show time was nearing. So far as he waited, the other record store employees who knew him kept their greetings or acknowledgments towards him minimal. He wondered what Alma said to them. All she had told him was that she’d think of something when he dropped her off. 

As Lewis approached the cash wrap, he spotted Bill and gave him a little wave. Then he looked down and noticed a little girl pulling on his wallet chain. 

“Glad you came,” he said, shaking Bill’s hand. “I hope you didn’t have to stand in line. I heard about the guest list at short notice.” 

“Oh, it was no issue. I didn’t wait long, if at all,” he smiled. “Uh,” he looked down at his daughter. “This is my kid; I brought her along tonight.” He had tried to get her to say hello, but instead, she shyly hid behind his leg. “Her mom is, uh,” he thought for a moment. “She’s having a girls night.” That to him sounded better than to say she was working because why would someone like him have a partner who worked when he made the money he had. 

“Hi, little miss,” he lightly chuckled. Bill was now wondering if having his daughter with him would endear Lewis or make him look irresponsible. “It’s getting hectic out there,” he continued. “I’m sure you figured out who’s actually playing tonight,” he said, giving Bill a witting glance. “I saw some people trying to buy tickets off those who bought theirs in advance.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhm. Triple the price too. It’s ridiculous, but quite funny, how desperate some people are acting out there. I’ve listened to these guys' first record. It’s… okay.” He shrugged indifferently. “Maybe it helps that the lead singer is a good-looking guy. Other than that, I don’t get the hype much.”

“All style, no substance?” Bill added to his indifference, even if he liked the band's debut record. He found it to be one of the best showcases from a band in quite some time. 

“Seems to be that way these days. Or maybe I’m just showing my age?” 

“Up Papa? Up? Papa.” Echo was patting his leg to get his attention. 

“Excuse me,” Bill said, picking his daughter up. 

“No worries. You know we have an office just on the other side,” Lewis pointed towards it with his thumb. “If she needs a moment or some space, you’re more than welcome to use it. I’ll let the managers know.” Darby was passing them by at the moment. “Actually, this is one of them, Darby.” He waved him over. 

“Yes,” he asked, doing his best to not give Bill any ounce of recognition. 

“This is Bill. He, uh, well, he’s a prospective buyer.” 

“Is that so?” He smiled at Bill. 

“Since he’s with his child, I offered him the office if he should need it for anything.” 

“Oh, for sure. But the rocker baby might outlast us all tonight,” he lightly joked.

“Could you let Alma know? Where is she actually?” Lewis wondered, trying to scan the store, but there were too many people, and he didn’t have the height to overlook them.

“Talking to press. Sorry, but I gotta run,” Darby said, backing away to head towards the stage. “Nice to meet you, Bill.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice when he said that. 

“Thank you for that,” Bill said appreciatively. 

“Yes, of course. I’m old, but I still remember having my daughter run around this place when she was little. My son, too. We’d have gigs, and she’d watch while sitting on top of the desk,” he smiled at the memory. “Or if she wasn’t fond of the music, she’d pile all her blankets under the desk and sleep.” 

In his peripheral vision, Bill saw Alma approaching the cash wrap asking Ulyssa to hand her camera to her; she had since switched jobs with Ash.

“You know this night is a bit of an anomaly,” Lewis continued. “I haven’t seen it so busy, but that could be me being out of the office, so to speak, these last few years. The '70s were pretty good. The band booker just stacks up gigs like I’ve never seen. I’m a bit impressed with her arrangement of this. I know you’ve been noticing things that may need changing here. Like the stage lights and a lot of things needing polishing. It’d be smart if– this is her. Alma.” 

“Uh, yeah?” She said putting the strap of her camera around her neck.

“I know you’re busy, but just one moment.” He quickly introduced her longtime boyfriend to her, unbeknownst to him. She shook his hand, and she had to break it free because it felt like he was holding it for too long. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” She said impatiently as Lewis explained who he was to him. Never in her life had she ever wanted to get out of Bill’s presence. However, it was a relief when Lewis informed her about the office situation. Bill said he’d just take Echo out to the car if she got fussy, but now he didn’t have to. “Is, uh, are you one of the Cali’ guys?” 

“He’s the gentleman from New York I had mentioned.” Lewis said.

“Right! The email guy,” she smiled as Bill looked at her with an amused expression. 

“Ma-ma. Mama.” Echo reached out to her, and she tensed when she felt herself wanting to take a hold of her, but she shifted on her feet to keep it from being obvious. Bill’s eyes widened for a moment, but he lightly brushed his hand over his daughter's face to pull her attention back to him.

“Aw, how funny. She’s sweet.” Alma lightly laughed to play it off. 

“Mhm,” Bill said, giving her a pursed-lip smile. 

“Well it was nice to meet you,” she said quickly. “I gotta…” she said to Lewis, who nodded understandingly as she backed away. “Doors are closing!” She turned on the heel of her Converse and paused when she saw the police coming in. She cursed under her breath and turned back towards her boss.

“I’ll handle them,” he said to her. “Do what you need.” 

She thanked him and then disappeared, with her camera, into the crowd. The police were just making their presence known; they weren’t breaking any rules.

“Um, if I don't see you,” Lewis turned to Bill before dismissing himself. “Enjoy the show. And keep an eye on those emails, eh?” 

“I will. Thanks for inviting me.” 

“Yes. Of course. Uhm, you might have similar nights like this to look forward to.” He smiled and went on his way.  

Bill brows raised with satisfaction hearing that from Lewis. While it was somewhat cryptic, he knew it was a hint that he was closer to owning the place than he thought. 

“And Echo, what was that?” Bill turned to his daughter, who just gave him a strange look. "You've gotta be cooler than that, darling.” 

He checked his wristwatch, show time was in 15 minutes. He put Echo down in front of him as he crouched down, pulling the backpack in front of himself to put her noise-canceling headphones on. He had placed her on his shoulders, giving his arms a break and also because her knee would occasionally dig into his sore ribs. Soon the house lights went out completely. The crowd hushed. Everyone was in position; the doors were closed, and security was now blocking them. People's faces could be seen pressed against the gaps of the poster-covered windows to get a peek from outside. 

Those same fuzzy, loud guitars could be heard behind the curtains, only for one anticipatory moment until Matt and Darby pulled them back and Gregory hit the stage lights on, revealing the band and the place exploded. Cheers roared, and the people were off their feet, hands in the air. The band fed off the energy and amped up for their homecoming show. 

…

Nearing the end of the show, Bill found himself in the office with Echo on his lap as he sat on the edge of the desk and watched the show through a sparsely sticker-covered window. She needed a change, and her headphones had begun to make her head sweat. He was next to Darby and his fiancee before he’d left their side. Darby just handed off the key to the office rather than miss any second of the concert. 

Brushing out her damp hair by her ears with his fingers, he was glad it was much cooler in the office. With all the bodies in the place, it was quite stuffy. It was then that he saw Alma being lifted on top of Zeph’s shoulders, and she reflexively gripped his face, trying to steady herself, earning a bit of an annoyed glance from him. She was taking photos above the crowd. Bill’s chest tightened with concern as she was near the wall of bodies corralling those who were moshing. This was probably the hardest part of this whole night—that he couldn’t be by her side. 

Alma was swaying a bit because Zeph was holding the wall of people back with one arm, and Bill sighed in relief when she began climbing off him. He hadn’t realized he was standing up now as if he had better sight doing so, but he was just up with worry. 

Alma grabbed his large bicep, and he led her right up to the stage, splitting through people in front of him effortlessly. The lead singer switched from his electric guitar to his acoustic, which was almost as famous as him, and began crooning one of their popular ballads, Declared, about undying love. The crowd settled some, and even a few teen girls in the crowd shed tears as they sang along. As Bill listened, he noticed that he was singing an extended version because these newly added lyrics he couldn’t recall from the album version. In these lyrics, he sang about the disillusionment of love, a complete flip from the hopelessly romantic lyrics prior. It sounded very personal to the singer's life currently. It seemed a bit melodramatic, Bill thought, even for a band such as themselves. 

If it was any worse that he had been flirting with his girlfriend, the lead singer had spotted her taking photos right in front of the stage. His gaze seemed to look past the camera and directly at her. The last chords he strummed on the guitar lingered in space when he leaned down and kissed the back of her hand, which made other girls at the show squeal in excitement at the display. Bill couldn’t help but roll his eyes and groan. 

“Ugh. Dickhead,” he said under his breath. 

Bill decided to leave the office not long after. He stood in his old spot with Darby and Jennifer. Just before the last two songs, Lewis waved at them and left for the night, not wanting to deal with the after-show crowd. The show ended with a bang, and the band was quickly swept away by their own personal security. The house lights went up, and the Wayward Sons were quick to usher the concertgoers out then too. 

Echo was in Bill’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder as she fell asleep. Her hand fit between the space of the buttons of his dark-colored shirt jacket and was gripped around the strap of the white tank he wore. While it was late for her, he was surprised that she slept through the noise. Alma was able to cut through the crowd with Zeph’s assistance, and then he broke away once she got to the thinner part of the crowd. Bill noticed her getting stopped and surrounded by two groups of young girls, one including Chrissy. Who were gushing to her about the kiss she received most likely. Then it was apparent to Bill when one of them took her hand and caressed the back of it with her cheek. Alma looked at her strangely, and Darby laughed when he also noticed the interaction. 

“The hell,” she said, snatching her hand back and quickly walked away from them. 

She pushed her bangs out of her face and blew raspberries with relief that it was all over. 

[carspraypainters]

Maintaining the Shine of Your Vehicle: Car Rust Removal in Sydney

Locating trustworthy car rust removal in Sydney, a city renowned for its breathtaking beaches and coastal lifestyle, may help shield your car from the weather and keep its shine for years to come. The rust may lessen the structural integrity of your car and lower its resale value. Maintaining the durability and aesthetic appeal of your automobile depends on your ability to remove rust, whether it's from superficial corrosion spots or more significant damage.

https://www.jhcarspraypainting.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/jhmobcar_sl4-330x228.jpg

Reimagining Your Car: The Advantages of Expert Car Spray Paint

This guarantees that the professional car spray paint will precisely match the current colour or the shade you've chosen, preserving the original look or fulfilling your customisation objectives. Professionals can use computerised colour-matching systems to fix minor scratches or completely change the colour of their automobiles.

Expert automobile spray painting provides a flexible and efficient solution, whether you want to change the colour of your car, hide flaws, or give it a whole makeover. Choosing expert spray painting services may greatly increase the visual appeal and worth of your automobile in places like Sydney, where cars are not just a means of transportation but also a representation of one's status and personal style.

Expert Rust Removal Services in Sydney Along With Surface Readiness

When do-it-yourself approaches aren't cutting it, or for more complicated rust issues, you should look for expert rust removal services in Sydney. Experts in rust removal have the knowledge, equipment, and specialised instruments needed to evaluate and remove rust from your car.

They can pinpoint the root causes of rust problems and offer complete remedies to stop them from happening again. Expert rust removal services frequently provide warranties or guarantees on their labour, giving customers piece of mind that the work will be done correctly the first time. Before implementing protective coatings, experts ensure comprehensive surface preparation, which may involve sandblasting or chemical methods to thoroughly eliminate rust.

Source

[wellworth]

Powerful yet safe formulation quickly cleans idle air control valves, throttle valves and throttle bodies. Will not damage catalytic converters, oxygen sensors or aluminum. Can sprays at all angles. Will not harm converters, O2 sensors, aluminum or coated throttle bodies.

[seat-safety-switch]

“Congratulations, caller! You’ve won a new paint job and detail for your car!”

I had been listening to Sharky In The Morning on The Pulse 93.6 FM for months just to get to this moment. Sharky (not his real name) had promised that one lucky listener would get a fully-paid-for paint job for their car. A little weird of a radio show prize, to be sure, but it was something that I desperately needed.

You see, most of my cars are decrepit shit boxes. There’s dings. There’s rust. There’s accident damage. There’s holes. And getting some body work and a nice paint job would go a long way to returning my car to respectability, and perhaps even myself to employment. I went over to the radio station at the first opportunity, banging and clanging the entire way.

When I got there, I found out a cruel truth of the new era of media: radio stations don’t actually exist. Their address was a server closet in the middle of a cornfield. “Sharky” was a radio DJ from out of province, who did at least seven different cities’ morning zoo programs under different names. Despite myself, I felt cheated on. I thought we had a relationship, me and Sharky In The Morning, but clearly he didn’t feel the same way. Eyes burning with tears, I peeled out of the field and onto the highway, making sure to dispense a short, but angry, one-tire-fire strip of smouldering tire rubber behind as I did so.

A few weeks later, the package from the radio station arrived. I headed to the bodyshop and was summarily rejected. “They said a paint job, man, this is an entire overhaul,” explained the minimum-wage artisan hired to spray my car with something resembling an environmentally-friendly colour. This argument was not unexpected. I came prepared.

“I think you’ll find that if you look in my trunk, you’ll reconsider.”

Inside my trunk was my own shark. My shark of an attorney, Max. He was toting quite the package himself. Of writs, that is. Max was already grinning as the trunk lid flipped open, although he probably cheated and looked through a rust hole. My friend wasted no time in explaining both the body shop’s and the radio station’s respective responsibilities within the bounds of the contest, and how his own professional responsibility extended to hurting as many people involved with this ill-planned legal machination for as long as it took to make someone come out and Bondo up my crapcan before applying a new shade of Plymouth factory baby shit brown.

“With bass boat flake,” I added, hopefully. 

Max barely acknowledged my interjection, and opened his briefcase. Inside that case was nothing except for a series of intricately-detailed, meticulously accurate finger puppets representing myself, his attorney, “Sharky,” and the body shop service writer, which he then proceeded to demonstrate the facts of the case using. I was particularly impressed at how accurate the representation of the service writer was, considering neither of us had ever met him before today.

I didn’t get my bass boat flake, and to be honest, the quality of the paint job, although airtight, was a little crappy. Max told me that there was no legal precedent for water-based paint being ruined by the bodyshop owner’s tears, but we could always try to enter another contest.

[phoenixdropconfessional]

childfucker's car has been TRASHED! no more side mirrors, spray painted pedophile on the windshield, and i keyed child fucker on the side of the car so he can't wash it off. i also broke in and stole the door to his glove box lol and like 50$.

-car trashing professional

FUCK YEAH

xoxo VR

[alinapresley]

Car coating fixing in Brisbane includes correcting any sort of problems to the automobile's paintwork. This can feature blemishes, potato chips, fading, or various other infirmities. The method generally features sanding down the destroyed place, applying guide and also matching coating colour, at that point ending up with a clear coat for defense. Specialist automotive body system shops in Brisbane give professional automobile coating repair services to recover your car's look and secure it from more damage.

[kingsrestoration]

10 Things that Happens During Mold Remediation

If not treated on time, mold accumulation can spread and damage the house beyond repair. Many people get health issues due to black mold. Even if occupants can put up with it, the mold will still be an issue for the subsequent homeowners because inspection reports always note the mold's presence.

Mold cleanup businesses are a godsend for homeowners seeking to make a sale. Companies that specialize in mold treatment are specifically created to handle mold issues. Read more to get an idea of what happens when a mold remediation firm arrives at your home and how you should prepare for it.

What is Mold Remediation?

The word "mold remediation" is used to refer to all of the procedures utilized to get rid of dangerous mold development. Depending on the type and location, it may involve mold testing, removal, demolition, sanitizing, containment, and cleaning. Instead of making the misleading claim that all mold has been removed from your house, a reputable restoration firm would offer the treatment to lower the level of mold there to a safe level.

Why do People Get Mold Remediation?

You will typically need a professional mold treatment service when a mold outbreak spans more than 10 square feet of your house. However, it may also signify a mold infestation if someone in your home suddenly develops a mold allergy, such as coughing or wheezing.

Since there is a likelihood that such people have other allergies, it is crucial to see if symptoms get better when you are away from your house. If this occurs, you are more likely to deal with mold growth in your house, and you should consider professional mold remediation services.

What Happens During Mold Remediation?

Ahead of the Company's Arrival

Move as much furniture and other untouched items as you can a few days before the firm arrives. The home remediation area must be free of obstructions for the company to work.  Move cars from the driveway or garage, put the dog in the backyard, and generally clear a broad access area from the outside to the mold area a few hours before the business is scheduled.

Company gets ready

The mold removal business will park a vehicle as close as feasible to the doorway, spread plastic sheeting throughout the house, and direct hoses toward the mold location. Most mold remover businesses will take care to keep your home tidy while they work. They will, at the very least, tidy up after each workday. If the mold location can be reached from the outside, like a crawlspace, the service providers can enter without having to enter your home.

Suit-Up Procedure

Mold remediation workers are completely prepared for duty with white suits from head to toe, booties, respirators, and goggles, just as they would be for any other potentially dangerous procedure like the removal of asbestos or lead-based paint. It does not necessarily imply that the mold removal business will eliminate dangerous mold. Numerous varieties of mold that are prevalent in homes are not dangerous. Instead, treating mold as though it were toxic is recommended, even if that is not the case.

Take Away Items

At this stage, anything that can get removed is thrown away. Usually, porous mold-damaged things need to be removed rather than cleaned. These include drywall, plaster, carpeting, furniture with fabric coverings, and apparel.

Packaging of Goods

Items taken out of the home remediation area are kept in airtight, thick plastic bags that are carefully sealed. The bags are cleaned for the owners to get rid of any mold. The ability to dispose of the moldy debris in a standard landfill will depend on local rules and restrictions.

Pour Down

Step one of this two-phase procedure is to spray a biocide on the moldy area. This first stage should often take less time than the second. The EPA-approved liquid biocide eliminates mold. Be aware that the EPA does not recommend using bleach to destroy mold.

Waiting Time

Following the workers' departure, the biocide starts to act and eliminates the mold spores. The surface needs to be dry before application since paint or whitewash is used for encapsulation. The waiting period determines how long the biocide takes to dry and destroy the mold.

Encapsulation

The employees will apply paint or whitewash to cover or encapsulate the region's last mold spores. The mold remediation business should spray far outside the contaminated region to ensure the owners that no additional mold grows. For instance, even if only a small portion of an attic has mold, the business will likely still spray down the entire attic. Therefore, you should check with the professionals that you’re hiring to spray down the entire area, and not just the spot with mold. It would be better if they did this for future purposes.

Verify Your Success

Mold removal is typically successful if neither visible nor a mold odor is present. It's crucial to eliminate all mold before painting or whitewashing so that it can't reappear underneath enclosed areas.

Address mold's Cause

The location is safe for the inhabitants to return to once the surfaces have dried. After the home remediation process, the mold's root cause, such as roof leaks, dampness from the kitchen or bathroom, or leaking gutters and drainpipes, should be addressed.

Call Kings Restoration

Kings restoration offers mold remediation services for homeowners to eliminate mold accumulation. With multiple years of knowledge and expertise in the field and a team of professional mold experts that do the job quickly and ensure excellent results, we offer home-delivery services at a very affordable cost. Our team will explain every step of the process to you while helping you prepare for the process. We aim to provide results that cause the least damage to your house and the stuff around. We can even provide mold inspection and consultation to read the situation and suggest the best options to fix and prevent such situations from happening in the future. Visit us for more information on the services we provide. Schedule an appointment with us for a quote or other inquiries and sort your mold worries quickly.

[wolfontheloose]

|| Tony & Ryden ||

Ripping the door to his apartment open after the first couple of eager knocks against the painted wood, Ryden let the other man through without much of a greeting since his visit was expected, their plan to hang out and watch Jujutsu Kaisen long awaited and prearranged. Ryden had been looking for someone to watch anime with like the nerd that he secretly was and meeting this dear friend of Bellamy’s opened up the opportunity. Because watching animated series was at least ten times more fun in company than alone.

“Come in. I got popcorns and beer ready.” Ryden informed, leaving it up to Tony to close the door behind him and make himself comfortable in whichever way he wanted. Inside, Ryden’s apartment was a punk-rock biker fairytale dream come true, an alternative kid’s sanctuary when he got too tired of playing a proper grownup. Walls were painted insultingly black, fading into grey in a subtle gradient near the floor. Posters and wall art were scattered all over, in a chaotic but still somehow aesthetically appealing disarray, not merely a cover-up for a bad paint job or holes in the walls Ryden might’ve punched in for some recreational anger venting - which he never actually did although he looked like a bloke who regularly punched holes through walls. Almost everything was carefully framed, purposefully hung up, especially the limited editions hard to come by and therefore cherished and given special spotlight places. Iggy Pop, Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Johnny Cash, David Bowie; faces of many a legend watched on from their lofty vantage points, cozily observing in between framed movie prints and comic book covers. Flat surfaces had picture frames of more real people, ones Ryden encountered daily in his life and kept them there, and artwork or mementos made or gifted by them. Taking up an honored place on the TV stand against the central wall, among Alien and Predator figurines, were framed hand-done doodles and drawings in charcoal or pen, shiny little car models and wooden 3D train puzzles Ryden assembled himself in what little free time he had.  

The furniture arrangement was where one would expect it to be in a space as small and predictable as this. The kitchenette was tiny, separated from the rest of the living space by a large kitchen island with rusty-colored countertop, tall leather-dressed barstools tucked under it. Ryden’s precious curved plasma TV was huge and very likely the most pricey thing he had ever bought with decently earned money, taking up most of the wall opposite to the black leather couch matching the barstools. The coffee table was Ryden’s own invention - a couple of beer crates and a wooden panel over them all securely nailed together, spray painted a glossy black, with stylized pair of claw mark engraved across it. Two Pacman-shaped lazy bags were shoved into a corner, stacked one on top of the other. An Xbox and a PlayStation sat under the TV.

Most blinds were shut and the only source of artificial light was a red lava lamp strategically placed where its crimson illumination would be at its best. A rosewood guitar sat in another corner on its stand, the amplifier connected, stereo mounted on the wall. An old jukebox was next to the instrument, still recuperating from when Ryden had salvaged it from a dumpster. He’ll fix it eventually and make it work. Heavy hand weights were stacked neatly on their rack, proudly being the reason why Ryden didn’t have a dining table. Instead of any ceiling lights hanging, there was a very professional looking punching bag, definitely sand-filled. The door to the bathroom was open and a sneak peek would reveal that it was kept pretty neat, yet sadly only large enough for a shower stall. Aside from that particular space dedicated to cleanliness, Ryden didn’t believe in storing everything away immediately after use - anything that might belong in a drawer was equally comfortable on the floor.

@tony-baxter​

[tillmantools]

Mastering the Use of Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer for Superior Results

In the world of automotive refinishing and repair, achieving a flawless finish is a priority. A key factor in this process is ensuring proper adhesion between materials. This is where the Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer plays a crucial role. Below, we delve deep into what makes this product indispensable and how to use it effectively to achieve outstanding results.

What is Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer?

A Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer is a specially formulated product designed to promote adhesion between plastic substrates and topcoats. Given the challenges associated with painting plastics, particularly on car bumpers and claddings, this primer ensures that the paint bonds firmly, preventing peeling or flaking over time.

This product acts as an adhesion promoter, bridging the gap between surfaces with varying properties, such as flexible plastics and rigid topcoats. By enhancing adhesion, it ensures durability and longevity, even under extreme conditions.

Key Features and Benefits

1. Superior Adhesion on Plastics

One of the standout features of a Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer is its ability to adhere to various plastic surfaces, including polypropylene, thermoplastic olefin (TPO), and polyurethane. Its application eliminates the risk of paint lifting, even on challenging surfaces.

2. Easy to Apply

This primer is typically available in spray and liquid forms, allowing for straightforward application. Its quick-drying properties minimize downtime, enabling faster project completion.

3. Durability and Resistance

By forming a strong bond, the primer increases the paint’s resistance to chipping, cracking, and environmental wear, ensuring the finish remains intact for years.

4. Compatibility

The product is compatible with most automotive paints, making it versatile for use in various repair and refinishing jobs.

Step-by-Step Guide to Using Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer

Step 1: Surface Preparation

Proper surface preparation is critical. Begin by cleaning the surface thoroughly to remove dirt, grease, and wax. Use a plastic-specific cleaner for optimal results. Sand the surface lightly with a fine-grit abrasive to ensure better mechanical adhesion.

Step 2: Cleaning and Degreasing

After sanding, wipe down the area with a clean cloth and a degreaser. This step eliminates any residual contaminants that might interfere with adhesion.

Step 3: Application of the Primer

Shake the primer container well before use.

Apply a thin, even coat of the Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer to the surface.

Allow the primer to flash off as per the manufacturer’s guidelines. Typically, this takes a few minutes.

Step 4: Painting

Once the primer is fully cured, apply the desired paint or topcoat. Use multiple thin coats for an even, professional finish.

Step 5: Sealing and Finishing

Complete the process by applying a clear coat or sealer if required. This adds an extra layer of protection and enhances the appearance.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

1. Skipping Surface Preparation

Neglecting to clean and sand the surface can result in poor adhesion and compromised durability.

2. Over-application

Applying too much primer can lead to runs or an uneven finish. Always opt for thin, consistent coats.

3. Using Incorrect Products

Ensure compatibility between the primer and the paint system. Always follow the manufacturer’s recommendations.

Best Practices for Optimal Results

Use in a Controlled Environment: Ensure a dust-free, well-ventilated space to prevent contaminants from settling on the surface.

Temperature Considerations: Apply the primer within the recommended temperature range for optimal curing.

Test First: Conduct a small patch test on a hidden area to ensure compatibility and adhesion.

Applications Beyond Automotive Use

While primarily designed for automotive applications, Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer is also useful in other industries where plastic painting is required. Its versatility extends to furniture restoration, industrial equipment, and DIY projects involving plastic surfaces.

Why Choose the Right Adhesion Primer?

The quality of an adhesion promoter can make or break the final finish of your project. Investing in a premium Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer not only saves time and resources but also guarantees a professional outcome that stands the test of time.

By mastering the use of Bumper and Cladding Coat Adhesion Primer, professionals and DIY enthusiasts alike can achieve superior results, ensuring their projects not only look exceptional but also perform reliably in the long run.