It’s September 1985 – It’s L.A. – It’s High School – It’s Crazy – It’s Love.

Where would we be without an overactive imagination?

She thought you were wonderful.

You thought she was nuts.

You had a brain – you never used it. All the important parts froze.

Senior year – September – getting to that age where you look at things different – imagine things. See possibilities.

Unless you’re you. Ask anybody – ask your friends – “nice guy, but a bit thick”. That’s what they’d tell you.

You look around your class – you’ve known this bunch since Junior High – know them – dated one or two of them – they still aren’t speaking to you.

She was new – just that semester. Dropped her books during passing period. You picked them up – she smiled. She said thanks – eyes met just a fraction of a second too long.

Should’ve said something then – back when you didn’t have time to think about it. Too cool to toss out lines. Too dense to make small talk. Even though you’ve taken to laying awake at night thinking about her. You’re quickly turning hopeless. There had to be a mistake someplace – she didn’t mean you. She must be thinking of somebody else.

Now that time has passed your stomach does back flips when she walks in the room.

If only you said something before what’s left of your brain went to work. Now you can’t even croak out a one syllable greeting. Sweat pours off in gallons – hands soaking wet. Nervous wreck; you.

Try not to look, you know she’s gazing holes through you – your head could explode any minute.

You confess to your friends – they laugh – they aren’t good at confidence building. So much for having confidants.

Of course, leave it to the one guy who takes the joke a step further.

He has the solution, he just doesn’t tell you.

Next day you amble into class. There’s your friend making animated small talk with the object of your anxiety.

He sees you and motions you to come over.

You don’t have time to break out in a rash – you come face to face and he says something really embarrassing and she smiles – it’s a sensational smile; it radiates – complete with teeth and sparkle.

You stand there like you’re going to grow a tumor but your mouth opens anyway.

You have no idea what you’re saying but it lands like magic.
Bell rings – class starts – you’re on some distant galaxy – you’re stacked up over LAX.

By the end of the day you see your future in front of you.

It’s in color with Dolby and surround-sound.

She works until 9 – you pace in front of the phone.

You touch base at the appointed hour and you forget what time it was. Johnny Carson was over hours ago – having trouble saying goodnight.

You finally hang up and you’re too wired to sleep.

Radio is on and streetlights bounce off the ceiling. You hear birds.

You sigh like you already met tomorrow.

You must’ve done something good in your last life.

Here’s 90 minutes worth of Dusty Street from KROQ on September of 1985.