I was invited to read poetry at the beginning of the concert, which I did, even though only a handful of people were there and mostly weren't paying attention.

Then I took a breather outside while the band engaged in the eternal activity of setting up. Somehow I got from here at night to sunny Rockies-temperate-rainforestness in some sort of SUV driven by Pukesick, who was driving recklessly on backroads and saying how he did it specifically to provoke cops, which seemed commonsense enough but the dozens and dozens of cop cars we passed, swerved around and performed Blues Brothers-esque manoevers around didn't seem to take much note or care.

Eventually one caught us in the corner of their eye and engaged in pursuit though slippy wood-chippy forest paths. We ditched the gas-guzzler and took our mountain bikes off the rack and took off using those. We shook Smokey but I took a tumble, falling to the soft spongy ground and dashing my new glasses to bits, which rendered me greatly distraught, because the warrantee was overdue. Birch comforted me and told me a story Jessicapierce had told him about a little girl who discovered that enough teary-eyedness and sincere trauma would result in replacement and reinstatement by kindly glassescraftsmen, especially once they heard the tale of how it was broken, as optometrists and police are natural enemies.

So I was back on-stage, the main band was finished, and I was told that they had a gap between this set and the next band, and that the organizers liked my poetry performance this time around and wanted me to go on again, even if it was the same stuff, to distract the crowd.

Life is good.

in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...