Some people werenÕt quite sure why Lemon attracted everyone to the Garage. It could have been her beauty, or her arrogance. Maybe it was the fact that everyone felt accepted there. I think it was more masochistic. People went to the garage because they wanted to serve Lemon.

Lemon would send us off on all sorts of errands. We could only find one convenience store that still sold chocolate cigarettes, the others had all stopped selling them. Something about them encouraging kids to smoke. Lemon claimed she was addicted to them, the chocolate ones that is. SheÕd only accept ones that said Paris, New York, or London on the box. She hated Chicago and San Francisco and L.A. though I never thought to ask her why. She would talk, standing, leaning on one leg with a lipstick stained chocolate cigarette hanging lazily out from between her lips on the left side. Moving her hands, animated. I donÕt think she ever finished them. They were more of an accessory. Or maybe Lemon just liked making us go get them for her.

I found my way to the Garage because of Prickle. We were the Moon Rakers. Prickle, Sweet, and I. Prickle sang all beautiful and raspy and low. Sweet played the guitar all right. I was the drummer, and we lacked a bass player. After a while we didnÕt mind, because nobody really notices the bass player anyways.

Prickle and Lemon had known each other for a while. A lot longer than most people had known Lemon for anyways. It was like nobody could picture her having a childhood. She had just sprung up somewhere in her early teens, from the ground. Or grew like some sort of mold in a dark damp place. And then emerged, all 5 foot 8 of her. Waist-length blond hair and green eyes. Hips and breasts, lips. Lashes. Fingers. Lemon. Perfect and sour.

Prickle had met Lemon at a party. They were both drunk. They had talked about The Smiths and ended up making out on the basement floor until they collapsed asleep in the corner. After that they became good friends. Lemon taught Prickle how to crush up certain prescription pills and snort them up your nose. Prickle taught Lemon how to harmonize.

It had been LemonÕs idea all along. The Garage, I mean. She had always wanted a place that was completely hers and was all about everything she liked, and only that. And she liked being at the centre of everything, of course too. But that was easy for her, because she was purely electricity.