Which lead to a monumental (and misguided) excursion to New York City, in the hopes of making it. We quit school, lived in the lower class suburbs of northern New Jersey, commuted to laborious day jobs in Manhattan, practiced at night, tried recording an EP, played unmemorable shows at historical “landmark” clubs (Kenny’s Castaways, The Bitter End) whose existential names should have cued us to our inevitable ruin. We ate ramen noodles, cried in our sleep, fist-fought, drank too much, and, one year later, packed our bags and went back home unsigned, broke, hungry, empty-hearted, delirious, and permanently chagrined. The world began to take tragic shapes! The world became One Big Rock Band Cliché.