Front and Center

A week ago today I was driving south on the 5 from Berkeley headed home and trying to wean myself off the *high I had been on since early Saturday evening. Some close loves of mine and I went up that way to catch Arcade Fire at the Greek Theater. No assigned seating. Meaning, with enough patience one could have the opportunity to see one of today's best bands from a distance usually only the privileged experience. We had such patience, we were the privileged, it was the best show I've ever seen. Here are some shots of the weekend which included: leaving after one on Friday, stopping at a junk shop that took monetary donations (I bought Pilgrim and Tinker Creek and MC Hammer's Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em on cassette),  two nights in a Super 8 wherein ten people shared the room on Saturday (I slept width ways with three others and didn't even try to cuddle my bedfellows, unlike Friday), roasted-on-site coffee, IHOP (bleh), a shelter, six hours of waiting, front and center, euphoria.
Laurel took the last ones on her iPhone.

Laurel drove for a little, I got tired.

 Saturday morning.

 Waiting for it, under a shelter.

 At 9 I knew you well. You were my lover, you were my friend. At 29 you are my undoing. May caution ride the wind.

 The shelter Emily and I made out of: a barricade I  found lying in some ivy, a stick, a blanket, a shoestring.

 Oh ok.

 Catahoula on-site roaster.

 I stole away early Saturday morning for a little time to myself. That coffee was STRONG. I should have bought a bag.

 The blurriness denotes the uneasiness of riding an elevator that could have been in The Shinning.

 Booty rockin' show stoppin'.

Barrett and Grayson Kemp, my bedfellows.

See what I mean? Front and center.

* I don't do drugs.