Well, there goes the neighborhood

A new neighbor has moved into our quiet corner of Van Nuys Boulevard. 

Welcome HAZHEART, the drunk and noisy roommate you never wanted.

Nestled between the local post office and a travel agency is our newest friend. Fueled by Four Loko and drunken emo sweat is the hottest little half-clothing store half-venue the boulevard has ever graced its eyes upon.

Their ever-welcoming sign outfront reads Come The Fuck In. Welcoming indeed. 

Did the podunk town ask for this? Probably not.

Is it exactly what the town needed? Possibly.

Atom Nuke, a fire breathing and fire bending rapper frequent flyer of The Haz.

Upon entrance, the tiny storefront is perfectly curated for the mainstream emo.

Neon green is the theme around here — like the puke erupting from your esophagus after staying a minute too long when their hand selected musical acts perform.

Lining the walls are perfectly misaligned posters, hung up with neon green tape, next to pretty packages with their very own merchandise. Shirts reading I Survived Emo Rap are wrapped in plastic next to shirts with the neon green HazHouse logo — an emo take on the infamous heartagram.

When I ask the designer if he’s ever afraid of theft during shows he replies only with “as long as people wear them I guess it’s okay.” At least a punk attitude is thriving in the emo-taculor hellscape.

Between monotonous business days selling $30 shirts, the 250 square foot store turns into a venue packed liked sardines. 

But instead of tinned fish, rainbow hair, clown makeup and face tattoos flood onto the quiet sidewalk, flapping like smelts out of water.

The storefront, built in 1936 has never seen anything like it. 

And sometimes, change is good.

Just as soon as the bands start, so does the mosh pit.

But something needs to be put into perspective, Van Nuys Boulevard is home to street vendors, family owned businesses and a lot of vagrants — more likely than not, drunk.

And when a drunk roaming the murky lane hears high energy punkish music, all bets for safety have gone out the window. 

Thus, putasos have entered the moshpit chat. 

And such as the neighborhood has never seen something as pompous as HAZHEART, emos have never seen something as fascinating as a wild borracho in the pit. 

For a second, the sea of rainbow hair has split down the middle, making way for the real kings of this street. 

Violent punches are thrown through the air, unleashing the grit of the life these men hold. 

But when in Rome, do as the Romans do, and the emos pace themselves with the fury of these hardened men, jumping in when they see fit. 

Phones are spin-kicked out of hands, hair extensions are ripped off scalps and the beatdowns are played loud and fast. Just as the Emo Gods intended.

Yes, the store is unsightly for those who have come before it, sacrilegious even. 

But the 250 square foot box evokes a new breed.

It haz awakened something in the concrete jungle. Something green. Something mean.

Something we’re all going to have to get used to, because The Haz is here to stay — for better or for worse.