I'm 17 in a second-hand shop with a girl called Valerie, in town buying a brown suede coat for the gig, my first time seeing them live.
I'm having an outer body experience listening to the intro to 'Release,' clad in that same coat while Kev chats up two girls from the North in the Point, October 26th, 1996.
I'm playing 'Footsteps' over and over and over again in my grandparents' house, and she can hear it from below. She asks if it was me on my guitar. I tell her I wish it had been.
I'm scribbling out the lyrics to 'Jeremy' having asked for more paper in my summer maths exam, third year, aged 15, stumped by trigonometry.
I'm getting a free 'Vitalogy' t-shirt at 7.53am on the album's first day of sale, 1994.
I'm being driven through town, through the Liberties, making my da and Elmo listen to 'Nothingman' rewound ad nauseam.
I'm trying to find the music in 'Stupid Mop'.
I'm seeing them for the second time, June 2000, before going home to set fire to a skateboard.
I'm a teenager writing a fanboy letter.
I'm looking at polaroids of a stranger meeting Eddie Vedder, seething with jealousy.
I'm arguing their merits over Nirvana, using 'State Of Love And Trust' as my prop.
I'm watching 'Black' unplugged for the 716th time.
I'm heading back to Limerick, from Tralee, listening to 'Yellow Ledbetter' for the first time in my thirties.