The Foxfire Lounge is, or was a coffee house in downtown Minneapolis. Needless to say, they served coffee. More importantly, they served wonderful sandwiches. Wonderful. With blue corn chips.

Even more importantly, they had a room in back for music. It was a small room, an uncomfortably small room at times, but I spent some of my happiest hours there. I would stand sometimes with just 10 or 15 other people listening to an incredibly talented but unknown and underappreciated band. Sometimes there would be nearly 100 sweaty, writhing, bodies in that tiny little space, and I would go home both exhausted and at the same time invigorated by the sheer force of it all.

This was no mere building, but a gathering place, a center for expression. Every single person who ever saw a show there shared in something special, and that special something brought us closer together. It was a beautiful thing. That place was hallowed ground.

And then one day it ended. The management ran out of money, ran out of loans, ran out of options, and they closed it down. Forever. I cried with my fellow musicians, scenesters, and fans over the death of an important part of our lives. No, not just a part of our lives, a part of ourselves. Sometimes I think back on all the wonderful memories and smile. Sometimes I weep. I miss the Foxfire.

And I'll always remember blue corn chips.