You were just about to give up on the hardcore-punk scene in St. Louis. You had grown tired of the perceived elitism, the tough-guy posturing, the cramped basement venues and dive bars. As far as you were concerned, the diamonds had finally been overtaken by the rough, and you were ready to move on. Then you heard Better Days, and in an instant you were swept back to a simpler time, as if the name itself had transportive properties, as if that name was prophetically speaking directly to you, reminding you of all the reasons you fell in love with punk rock in the first place. You dusted off your old Gorilla Biscuits and Kid Dynamite records and got reacquainted and reawakened. Now all you can think about is faded stickers on skateboards, epic stage dives from speaker stacks and nights spent out raising hell with your friends. You should probably thank Better Days at its next show, where you will be standing front and center, grinning ear-to-ear and singing along to every word.
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