Last week, I went to a show in the basement of a stylish vintage clothing store in a neighborhood frequented by drug addicts, trust fund 20somethings, prostitutes, and the wealthy. All of them, often on the same block. It was really moist in a gross way in the basement, and there were fashionable shoes lined up on the shelves. While the first band played, I idly flipped at records upstairs and listened to people who look like caricatures quietly ridicule people who look like characters. And I felt my years more plainly than at any social event in recent memory. The only way to know if a gamble was worthwhile is to look at the payoff with a little hindsight, and my purse from that night in the Tenderloin is this EGRETS ON ERGOT cassette...so I think I won. Even though I flipped through records and lurked conversations for most of their set too.
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