Kathleen sighed, looking over the note she wrote, her own small scrawl dancing across the page.
Ya know that Buzzcock's (go ahead and laugh at the name now) Song? What Do I Get? Damn, that hits hard. Specifically: "I just want a lover/Like any other/What do I get? I just wanna friend/who will stay to the end/What do I get?" Don't even get me started on the last verse.
I had one adult tell me I wasn't pathetic. They were wrong. How do I know? I'm so fucking pathetic, I'm writing a note that I know is gonna just be thrown out with the rest of the trash because I have no one else to talk to. I made a whole new fucking level. And somehow, I'm fucking stuck there. If some poor idiot does have to read this (sorry), then take a good hard look. 'Cause I'm just the lonelier version of you, with no clue how it all went wrong.
Sure, I can talk to people when I go to shows, and I can have a good time. But I never see them again. And they have their own friends to go back to. So, Peter Shelly, take it away:
"What do I get? I get no love
What do I get? I get no sleep at nights
What do I get? I get nothing that's nice
What do I get? I get nothing at all, at all, at all, at all…"
-Kathleen Smith
(The Most Pathetic Punk You Ever Did See)
She folded the note, tucking it under the book she pulled out, and going back to the shelf, shoving the book and he note in, before shouldering her beat up messenger bag and walking out of the school library.