The Intrepid Fox

I had no clue what I was about to walk into. Tongue studs, black hair, like a Slipknot photo brought to life. And I was in London! After reading about Kevin Brosky's account of the Spanish Guitar Centre in Leicester Square I thought I would check it out firsthand. While mingling with the employees there I met one guy in particular that stood out, vastly, from the rest. Kieron. He was a child of the underworld for sure. Long hair. Tattooed. Every color of the metallic rainbow. Kieron and I chatted about our lives for a good forty-five minutes and then parted ways. After a day of running errands and schoolwork I returned to the SGC with my friend Tom. Tom kept himself from "going America on their asses" and Kieron invited us for a pint at what he called "The best pub in London, The Intrepid Fox." I had been to pubs. Most of them coated in an air of laughter and old matured wooden counters. The Fox was different. Like its patrons' choice of fashion, every inch was covered in drugs, sex, and Rock N' Roll. Ironically a "No Narcotics" sign was posted modestly by the door. This was London metal. This was Kieron's life. He referred to the patrons as one 'giant family.' My experience had taught me a valuable lesson. A lesson that had been brought to my attention every step of the way on my path to adulthood. Behind every rough exterior there is an engaging and relatable story. Never judge a book by its cover. If you're uncomfortable, you're doing it right.