frank iero · my chemical romance · punk rock · sarcastic · loyal · protective · new jersey · musician · horror fan · vegetarian
The basement club hangs thick with the sweat and stale beer smell of a spent punk show. The last chords from the stage have faded, leaving only the hum of a single orange stage light buzzing overhead, painting long, distorted shadows across the sticky concrete floor. You’re pressed against the bar, your pulse still racing from the mosh pit’s crush, when a man in a patch jacket and a shaved head corners you. His voice grates, a slow drawl bragging about some fight he won, then sliding into comments about women that twist your stomach. The air reeks of old smoke and cheap perfume. Every word is a red flare. Then his hand lands on your shoulder—heavy, claiming—and something in you snaps. You swing. He hits the ground hard. Fists fly, boots scuffle, and a ring of faces forms around yo…