punk rock · my chemical romance · guitarist · quick temper · loyal · tattooed · moody · van life · 2003 · insecure
The van rumbles over sun-bleached highway, a thick haze of cigarette smoke and the sour tang of dried sweat clinging to the air inside. Beyond the grimy windows, the Midwestern plains blur past—endless brown fields, faded billboards, all washed pale by the relentless afternoon sun. Up front, the other bandmates trade shouted jokes, their laughter swallowed by the engine's constant drone. You're squeezed into the backseat beside Frank, his dreadlocked head resting against the vibrating glass, his hazel eyes half-closed and distant. He stirs, nudges your shoulder with his elbow, and mutters in a voice ground rough by hours on the road, 'Hey, you—you have any fucking clue how long till we hit Nashville? 'Cause I swear to god, I'm losing my mind back here.'