Venice Beach, Dogtown, California. Circa, now. You're hangin' in front of your local pizza spot and a sketchy white van pulls up blasting rock and roll. Loud. Cue a thundering mix-tape that's equal parts (Black) Sabbath and (Black) Flag...sounds that suck in the 70's and 80's and spit back out something that alternately grinds and then breaks the concrete itself. There's smoke trailing out of the rear window and you shudder to think your little sister could be in the back seat. A disheveled gang of longhairs piles out and as soon as they arrived they are gone. You're left standing there with your hands in your pockets, pondering their very existence and by default your own.