There is no confusion about schedules or lifestyles. Right from the rim shot, your world is thrown off beat. I didn’t go in with my eyes closed. (Sure, I’m blindfolded at this moment, but my eyes were open from the start.) After all, I’d met Sean at a concert. I knew his nights were spent playing the drums for a local art house band called Daemon 7. I understood he was often up until three in the morning, because that very first night, he was up with me. Up in the alley behind the Pico Boulevard venue, pressing against me, pawing his way into my little black satin shorts, flicking open the silver buttons on my buffalo plaid shirt with a dynamic rhythm. I could almost hear the drum beat in my head. “Saw you in the front row,” he told me, mouth to my ear, hot breath on my skin. “I knew you saw me, too.” While most of the girls in the crowd oohed over Derrick Jacobsen, the feline lead singer with the mane of white hair, I had been captivated by Sean.
