“Punk: the space between the cracks you fell into just around the corner. Shadows in the neon flicker. Sweat soaked and smelling of spilled drinks and teenage lust. Me kissing him in the corner booth as X sang of Pauline and not giving a fuck who watched. Punk was the controlled burn and danger. Not from each other but the world at large. Punk was sitting on the roof watching the sun come up over Hollywood, the empty shell of the Masque, now a tomb of those earlier days a couple blocks away. Your Lucky Strike burning between your fingers as you nursed the last sweaty bottle of beer. You would get through another fucking day knowing a soundtrack was being laid down to show it happened. With some luck you would survive. Some of us didn’t. “
~ Daniel Babcock

📸 Andy Mayer

Andy and I shared that odd apartment. he snapped this photo back in 1987.

Videowest – LA Punk