Quotes from my Novella Trieste

The following are quotes from my punk novella Trieste, a tale of strange and sudden family relations in the punk scene.

Power punk couple Miranda and Preston have their worlds turned around by the appearance of a pixie punk. as the past comes around to haunt them.

Think of the following quotes them as mini-excerpts!

“I am not cute! I’m mean an’ ugly an’ scary!”

“Well, I remember the phrase ‘Du nervst, du Scheisskopf,’ but I still don’t know what it means.”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” smiled Miranda. “I might think it’s an ex.”
“Like, one of the exes I should be worried about?”

“Okay, who here likes Human League?” shouted Molly after their third song. Molly’s question was met with hawks and heckles from the collected audience.

“You fucking nailed it, you gorgeous bitch!”

Miranda sat back, glancing around the late-night burger diner with all of its faux retro decorations. It was crowded with punks from the Gilman show. Half of the crowd had dyed-black hair, while many of the other half had bright and colorful locks; dyed green, blue, fire-engine red, and one particularly noticeable punk with a leopard skin print mohawk.
Most everyone was wearing leather jackets, old army surplus jackets, flight jackets, and denim jackets, usually covered with patches and pins. A number of people in the crowd looked like college students, small groups of people who had been at the show who were just wearing band shirts and didn’t have any of the typical punk affectations that were so common among that tribe.

“Do you have some sorta problem with me makin’ more money than you?”
“No! Of course not. Honestly, it’s kinda nice havin’ a sugar momma.”

“There’s no such thing as paranoia!”

    “You guys need any help?” asked Miranda as she walked up to the stage.
     “Yeah,” said Trilly as she whipped her dreads out of her face. “Molly left a vibrator up my ass. It’s still on. Y’think you could reach in an’ get it?”
     “Hell no. Molly put it in there, so make her get it out!”

“Is there anything else I should know about you?”
“Well, we can have a sit down sometime an’ go through the list.”

I’m wondering how these guys got so damn popular though, bein’ as almost all of their songs are in that funny foreign language.”
“Hell, you can’t understand half the shit regular English singers are sayin’.”

Miranda knitted her brow. “Why are you getting so suspicious?”
“Because The Dynamite Chicks keep getting bigger and bigger, and that means more people coming around, nosing into things an’ trying to hustle. Hell, industry reps are starting to stalk other members of the band besides Skye, trying to sneak in.”

“Sometimes my junky instincts clue me in on bullshit I’d rather not know about.”

    “Hey, me n’ Miranda caught someone checkin’ you out.”
     “Sure you did,” snarked Preston.
     “No, really! She was lookin’ at you like you were a forty ouncer!”

Miranda pointed at the scar on her neck. “I didn’t get that because I cut myself shaving. I got it from a fight I started, a fight I started for completely stupid reasons.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I could live a boring life if I tried.”

    Miranda sat back down as she felt a wave of embarrassment. “Don’t be too impressed. I’m just another fucked-up punk.”
     Trieste looked at her with deep eyes. “How can you say that?”
     “What? It’s true. I’ve been a hot mess all my life.”
     Trieste fixed her eyes on Miranda. “You know how many punks have a mad crush on you? How many people just think you’re a fucking god, tall an’ beautiful and ripping up the stage all the time? Do you have any idea how many people want you to be in their bands?”
     Miranda looked down at the floor as Trieste kept talking.
     “I know half a dozen girls my age learnin’ to play bass, or who want to be a singer, just because a’ you an’ Molly. You ain’t no fucked-up punk. You ain’t like the rest. All those girls would be crushed to hear you say that.”

     She saw another punk grab a chair and slowly sit down. She was short and thin with stringy multi-colored hair that flayed out in all directions. She was wearing an old and cracked leather jacket and hobbling along with a walking cane.
     Miranda had noticed her slight limp when she walked up. She soon noticed her crow’s feet, a few deep lines in her face, and random strands of gray hair poking through her hair dye.
     Miranda looked down at her feet. She wondered about her body, how she had put it through so much abuse from drinking, junk, and fighting. She felt the tight parts of her body, the spots with thick skin where she had been cut, where she had cut herself, along with the scars from all of the club and alleyway fights. She felt the thick scar on her neck throb.
     It was an odd feeling for her, thinking about her age. She was just past thirty, but she thought about how she was less than a decade away from being forty.

Grab a copy of Trieste here!

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/trieste/

Miranda’s life story is told in my novel Blood, Skin, and Ink

https://needlepictures.com/tbd/book/blood-skin-and-ink/