King Krule (I’m Getting Old)


Behind me, a girl has had her hand gripped on my shoulder for the past 3 songs while she dances or whatever. I can’t see her, don’t turn around, but she’s definitely rolling on molly.

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you guys here! I can’t believe I ran into you guys!”

She didn’t. She tumbled through some waves of people to get to the couple she’s talking to. They’re okay with her but there’s a little confusion in their voices. Maybe they don’t know she’s on molly, maybe they saw her in the crowd and thought they ditched her.

Between songs, she won’t stop.

“Oh my god I love King Krule. He’s one of my favorites! I’ve been listening to him for a while! It’s so good to see you guys! When did you get here?”

When Archie Marshall starts playing the opening chords to “Easy Easy”, she doesn’t stop.


She sounds young. She feels like she’s grinding up on my ass. Her hand is still on my shoulder.

I turn to Jimmy, straight faced, “I’m having a great time. I’m so happy right now.”

I don’t want her to get to me, but I can’t turn around and say anything because we’re all jam packed in here. There’s no room to move anything other than your head and knees.

When the songs kick in, I’m a little less apprehensive about the girl and start getting into the music. Nikko lights a cigarillo rolled before the show, takes a few hits bent over, and passes it. When it comes to me, I try my best to bend over but it’s difficult. Mark’s in front of me, so I don’t mind bumping into him while trying to awkwardly take a hit, but when I come up with smoke I notice a man make eye contact with me from the side of the stage. He jumps down and starts towards us.

“Oh shit” I think, but take another hit and pass it anyway. Webster Hall is so packed there’s no real way he could possibly get to us. We’re close enough to the stage that we can see Marshall and his band of talented 19 year olds clearly, but far enough back that the barricade of people protects us from slightly overweight and bored looking bouncers. Smoke rises and collects with all of the other’s rolled before the show. The girl’s hand is still on my shoulder. It’s alright.

There was a time when I was more like her at shows. Completely shitfaced and making a fool of myself. Once at a Chromeo show I got obliterated early, stumbled to the bathroom with Mark as my crutch, and threw up in and around the toilet seat. A bouncer stormed in, “I smell vomit!”

“Who the fuck sed that?” I mish mashed to Mark. I don’t even think my eyes were open.

“Yo man, we gotta get out of here.” I picked myself off the floor and got back to the floor right as they started. I was still queasy but forgot about it. Halfway into the set I found myself on the shoulders of two brothers who met us there, going crazy on the dance floor.

At a Justice show I got so trashed I forgot I was holding a cup of beer and splashed it all over some poor guy behind me. After the show a friend told me what I did; “Why didn’t he move?” There WAS room.

Recently I’ve gotten older and don’t take to alcohol as I had in the past. During the last show I had been to at Webster Hall I almost fell asleep leaning against the bar, watching my friends go apeshit on the dance floor.

We’re almost through his set and my legs are already achy. I haven’t moved much save for my million reps of slight knee bends but I feel tired and sore. The set is good, a little slow going at first, but he finds his groove and sets sail for the rest of the show.

He finishes and we funnel out of the doors, down the stairs, and back out into the winter night.

“I’m getting too old for this.” Mark says to me, “My legs are so sore. I wish they had beds you could lay on and watch the show.”

“I was thinking the same thing; that would be awesome.”

When Jimmy gets outside, he says the same thing.

I used to be lively, careless, and drunk. Now my lower back gets sore, my neck gets stiff, and my legs don’t want to carry the rest of my body to anything other than a bed. I love going to shows, and this one was especially good, but when did this happen? When did going to shows become more of a chore than an excitement? I used to be just like that girl on molly, now I’m one of the stiff people aiming for something else from the music. Even thinking about it makes me tired. I need a multivitamin and a nap.


Author: antbrov

Fiction | Magical Realism | Introspective Write > Edit > Hate > Learn > Write...

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