Love stories? You’ll find them right here, in The Stereo Stories Anthology of Love Stories.
Eric’s music spilled out over the ridge, south into the valley, across the Jordan, embracing Biblical fields and crusade-era ruins, north along the road to Damascus.
While my angsty former beau was feigning suffering, Cobain had lived it and provided the soundtrack.
I never learn her name and I never speak to her. I don’t change my tutorial time so that I can be in a tute with her, the way I had done in my American History unit the previous semester with a boy who’d caught my eye in much the same way.
Tina told me one of her favourite songs was a ballad from the album, Fool For You Anyway; for a while, I listened to that song repeatedly and thought of her.
It’s a song about the frisson of sexual and romantic connection and what’s so piquant and poignant about it is that the film is about dashed opportunities for such possibilities.
With the murmurings of chatter from other tables around us, our own conversation flowed smoothly, a stream without pebbles to impede the course.
This love felt frightening. This love felt dangerous, even. And gambling everything for it – including my own life – felt reckless. But still.
As I pulled up to the Astor cinema and circled around for a park the band’s Everyday Formula reverberated through the tinny stereo system: My whole world's cheap and phony/ Dear hearts get lost and lonely/ I'll get what's coming to me soon.
I wish I could tell you that it was our differences that eventually tore us apart. Her love of big hair and the power ballad, my love of The Residents and holding my mohawk in place with airplane glue.