"what’s your favorite era of frank iero?"
[I start to sweat without warning. my hearing dulls and I develop tunnel vision. the question repeats over and over in my head, losing all it’s meaning. my mouth falls open, but no words come out. my fingers writhe mid-air, trying desperately to grasp anything, an answer, the solution. nothing. ten years of frank iero flash through my mind, and I grip the sides of my head, screaming.]