In 2009, Atlanta was in the midst of a crime wave. Bars were empty, lest you be robbed in the parking lot. Friends were tied up as their homes were burglarized. And there I was, trying to record a record with my band. We knew we were in trouble when a stripper took us aside and warned us not to go anywhere alone. Welcome to Atlanta.

Telepathy is real. Names are inconsequential. Alcohol can be made from other alcohol. Women’s spaces are hard to break into. Tongues feel wet on the palm of your hand. You don’t have to remember it to have done something wrong.

Push a parked car into the middle of the street and see what happens. Set your friend’s shoe lace on fire while they’re not looking. Piss in a beer bottle and put it in the refrigerator. Draw a penis on a sleeping person’s face. Punks say "kill your idols" but what if your idols kill you first?

One night, while bicycling home, a drunk girl pushing me into traffic. I collided with a car, flipped over my handlebars and landed on the pavement in such a way that my face required stitches. But, as luck would have it, this was only the second worst thing that happened to me that day.

In 2002 I was homeless, dressed in the wrong clothing and terrified of sex. Can one abrasive friend and his kitten with a cocaine problem help me find my way out of this mess?

Do you trust Fletcher with your money? At the Bone Zone, at the goth night, at the ZZ Top concert, without a shirt on? Let him be your roadie

Stealing drinks from expensive clubs. Smashing glasses in your favorite bar. Getting a gun pulled on you. Clubs that don’t open until 4am. Public parks that aren’t owned by the city. You heard the rise now watch the fall

What brought so many metalheads to Brooklyn? Who’s painting all this graffiti? Are a dozen punk scenes too many punk scenes for one city? Why do people from Atlanta do so much cocaine?

Where does your allegiance lie? In the lofts and warehouses of the DIY scene or the dark, horny rooms of the indie club nights? Hear from a man who swings both ways

Hiding in basements, tiptoeing around strangers, sneaking food out of pantries, and avoiding fistfights. It’s just your usual couch surfing stories.

The story of all of Fletcher’s STDs. Parental advisory (duh)

Strange town, strange people, no show. What’s a band to do?

How many looks is too many looks?

A teenage Fletcher lives in the woods with a group of activists trying to stop loggers from cutting down the old growth forest in Fall Creek, Oregon. Members of the group occupy tree-sits 100 feet above the forest floor. As tension escalates between the activists and the forest rangers, Fletcher tries to find shelter from the storm

Can a bunny survive the flood? Did Fletcher crash his bicycle naked?