It would have been second semester of my freshman year in college. I was already a fan when I got there, but my roommate, a musician, was just obsessed with Nirvana and Kurt. He had every obscure show and recording of the band you could imagine. He watched videos of past performances. He played and sang pretty much every song. He read Cobain's biography. Apparently there's a part where it mentions he once put a cigarette out on his cheek. So one night when we were at a party, my roommate, drunk, put a cigarette out on his cheek. That's how insane he was for Kurt Cobain. So I remember when the news came more because of how upset he was than how upset I was. Took a guy who was already negotiating some dark mental places and sent him reeling into despair. He videotaped that awful Courtney Love reading-of-the-letter ceremony on MTV with all those kids holding candles and crying in the park. I saw him a couple times that summer and he told me he wasn't coming back to school. And sure enough, he dropped out.
One of our mutual friends from college finally found him last year on Facebook (long story, but he went by a fake last name in college for some reason, so none of us knew his real name). Our little group all friended him and at first he seemed kind of embarrassed that we'd found him. I mean, we'd often wonder what ever happened to him and here he was. He's now a guitar instructor at some music academy. Has a wife and a daughter. Seems happy and well-adjusted. Interesting guy.
Anyway, that my story of where I was when Kurt Cobain died.