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Last night I went to the Misfits concert in Halifax. I enjoyed the bands, but most of all, I enjoyed the people watching.

Punks, ravers, little prepubescent kids with thier moms, solo geeks, older people... all whom I payed attention to. Most of all I loved to watch the freakiest freaks. Those with makeup on seemed to over do it a little, but "whatever floats thier boat", those guys with thier pants rolled up, and combat boots on (like me), with thier white shirts and black suspenders I especially liked. Then, there were the teenages with the spikes (like mine), and their hair in mohawks or tall spikes... they also were high up on my list of people that I stared at.

The Misfits themselves were very hip fellows. I hear they are pretty old (40 or so), but they are huge, built guys who look like they are approaching 30. The lead singer was the most normal looking of them all... the drummer was hidden by the coolest looking and biggest drum set I have ever seen. The basest and guitarist both had long dark hair and were wearing makeup.

And who came to my mind while I was watching this band? Zill. You remember him. I don't even know if he reads this... or if he even cares anymore. I thought about him the whole time... the makeup, the scene, the clothes, the aura of the place. I wish he could have stood beside me. (And I don't even know his thoughts on the Misfits)

Matt dragged me to the concert (not quite kicking and screaming), but he confinced me to go by telling me that it was Josh's 21st birthday, and we owed it to him to see one of his favorite bands. We both could imagine him standing there... smoking, looking coy, and occasionally, lifiting his head enough so that he could see over his hat. Happy Birthday Josh. If only you weren't dead.