Death Rocker

So here I was, a nineteen year old student at DePaul working at the coolest record store in Chicago and living in a shitty apartment on Racine and Wellington. Fuck living at home, I wanted to move out. If I was going to be an adult then, fuck it, I’ll live like one. I was splitting the $450 a month rent with this girl Brit whom was hardly ever there. But, she paid her part of the rent so, if she just wanted a place to crash, hey whatever.

I was majoring in Business Management with a minor in Art. I painted since I was nine. Most of the stuff I painted was all dark shit. I had dreams of opening my own record store one day.

My wardrobe mirrored that darkness. You’d be hard pressed to find anything that wasn’t monochromatic in my wardrobe (even today!). I had long black hair with shaves sides, skull rings, wore heavy black eyeliner and dark lipstick. I had a bitchy attitude but I had a heart…sometimes. Most of the time, I had to deal with my cousin Max and his friends Anna, Alex, and James. Max was a pain in the ass, but in all honestly, I looked after that little fucker! Anna treated me like the sister she always wanted and I treated her like the sister I never had. Alex was an asshole who was proud to be one. James was kind of a quiet guy. Most of the time, they would hang out at my apartment or at the record store.


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