If someone really wanted to hurt Antioch California in 1983, all they had to do was declare a citywide ban on the music of AC/DC. Or Black Sabbath. Or Led Zeppelin. The penalty would be death, of course, but first you'd have your mullet shaved off and your eyes made up with women's makeup and your lips all rouged with shiny red lipstick if you were a man, or as long as this would be both humiliating and abhorrent to you personally, as well as to the general population present to watch and make this a historical milestone in the outlying, socially backward, township. That or make it illegal (under penalty of death) to have a long handled Goody comb in your back pocket, matters not the color. Or a heavy silver chain to your wallet. Or to wear any kind, or iteration, of Harley Davidson thermal shirt. Or bell bottom jeans (yes, in 1983). Or to yell, utter, mutter, growl, or scream the word "faggot". If you really wanted to cripple Antioch California in 1983, all you'd really have to do is outlaw anyone riding a BMX bicycle around town, on the sidewalks or in the streets. And if you combined any of these separate, yet deadly, infractions, the city officials would be given permission to dress you in an outfit made entirely of cheap white toilet paper and spin you around on a flaming wheel in the middle of the most beautiful part of the city park until you puked and puked. All this to add to your punishment for daring, in either direction. For trying so blindly to blend into the pack of Hun-like heathen punishers. In their pickup trucks with spiked baseball bats and branding irons, on the hunt. Or at the biker bar behind the Panther Drive-In or parked ominously behind the Campanil theater, down by the black and slow-moving water. If you, like I, really wanted to hurt Antioch back then.