Imperfect recollections from an influenced mind of a night of music and magic. The truth lies somewhere between history and this story, but there is no map that could ever lead us back there. There were fruits and vegetables and weeds and beer and wine. Tim knew people of every municipality and social degree,
We sat engrossed in spectacle under the swirling, drunken crowd that circled us like dumb buzzards. Some of them danced to our music, some to the pulse of some bassy anthem still rattling in their skeleton from two bars down, and others were just there looking for someone to shout at and rub up against.