On the surface Whitestone seemed to possess the wholesome appeal of small town America, a Rockwellean masterpiece. Those who knew better acknowledged a carefully concealed subterfuge which surged upward against the town’s collective mask. Few accepted this contradictory undercurrent to their otherwise quaint community as anything real.

One winter afternoon, two young men rose from the depths of this subterranean force, revealing its presence for all who wanted to see.

As they walked the halls of Whitestone High School, everyone knew what Gary and James had in common. Outside of a heavy metal mentality, Gary and James were pillars of a dying breed, the unofficial link between butt-rockers and alternative new-age nihilism. Tight fitting jeans and worn out KISS t-shirts slowly gave way to looser fitting kaki trousers and flannel. Gary and James were not necessarily peddling the anti-nirvana despondency of the grunge movement; they were marketing, however, an alternative to reality as most Whitestoners saw it.

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