tiroHmpare

My friend Patrick was a tough guy ten years ago. He still is, but back then he was even tougher. Then he got a girlfriend. Ten years ago he used to spread spit on his beard to comb it, spit-style gel.

My friend Patrick was so tough that he listened to death metal. However, some of my other friends also listened to death metal. But my friend Patrick was the toughest of all: when he parked in front of the village bar, he’d roll down the windows and leave the stereo on. Full blast. He did it so often that Franco, the coffee guy, would hum Symbolic by heart.

I was still in school. One day, a classmate let me listen to "Downfall" by Children Of Bodom. I liked it so much that I bought the record myself, the one with the green cover. (Why didn’t you have it burned? Because back then, computers were as easy to find as a parking space in downtown Macerata. And CD burners were as common as free parking in downtown Macerata.)

A near perfect CD: thirty-eight thousand lire, thirty-eight minutes ...and two seconds.
I liked it so much that I was anxious to know what my friend Patrick would think of it. Even then, my friend Patrick was four years older than me. The opinion of someone more experienced always counts.
He didn’t like it at all. In fact, he was annoyed by that music. There were keyboards: they made him itch. He said it was power disguised as death metal. Back then, to talk trash about a metal band you just had to say it was power.

Then things changed over the years: my friend Patrick got a girlfriend, the green CD became a cornerstone, I grew up, the metal scene grew up, and now, to talk trash about a band, you can say metalcore.

Some things remain: Franco, the coffee guy, is still behind the counter. I wonder if he ever asked himself what happened to the guy who was always screaming in my friend Patrick’s car? Maybe he’s dead, who knows.