Daron Malakian

Summer 2002. July 19th. New-York. Evening. It's raining heavily. A wet red checkered shirt, mud-stained sneakers, disheveled long hair...
He was sprinting through the crowd near the stadium, bored out of his mind, often running past a girl, brushing his shoulder against hers.
The next time he rushed past her, she grabbed his shoulder and looked coldly into his eyes. Fear and worry were written all over his face.
Daron: What? Did I do something wrong?