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Waking up just before 11 a.m. The morning view from the futon is comforting.
Paige and her roommate Sophie meet Melissa and I here at the apartment, then we get some eats at Harrison Street Café.
Toasted Everything Bagel with Hummus, Tomato, and Sprouts. Orange Juice.
I’m waiting back at Melissa’s place for Sarah and Stephanie to drive from Virginia Beach to here and then we’re supposed to drive together to Harrisonburg for the MACRoCk music festival. Of course, they’re late and it seems pointless for them to even stop in Richmond first. So we change the plan to just drive our separate ways.
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Meanwhile, I’m informed of a jet crashing into an apartment complex back home right around the corner from my house off Birdneck Road. It’s unbelievable. It’s one of those things you never think about happening. It’s sure going to take a long time to become immune to all that jet noise again.
I start the two-hour drive to Harrisonburg with lots to reflect on and lots to anticipate.
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Peanut Butter Sandwich. Quaker Cheddar Cheese Rice Snacks. Honey Green Tea.
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Arriving at the venue, Downtown 34, where we’re supposed to be performing. The girls make it soon after. Some heavy power pop band plays before us. Then, we pump out our cute little punk jams. It’s a decent crowd.
“Glad we got that out of the way. Guys, we just played MACRoCk!”
We walk to the Elks Lodge for our free meal...
Rice and Beans. Kale. Pancakes.
Now the real fun begins. Walking from venue to venue—checking out some metal bands at The Blue Nile. The Invisible Hand at Clementine. Stephanie buys me beer along with a cheap vodka shot. I’m drunkie and loose. I keep running into people I used to know from all over, peeps from Blacksburg, peeps from Richmond, sisters of old friends, friends from my old church, peeps from bands I used to tour with. The atmosphere here is wonderfully hazy. More garage punk bands at Downtown 34. Heavy Cream from Nashville seems to be popular. I have no problem jumping right into the mayhem of swinging and dancing bodies.
After midnight when the official showcases are over all the rock n roll momentum is transferred to house shows and after parties.
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We’re packed like sardines here in this cozy little basement. Some pop band is screeching into our ears. And then another band. And then another. It’s all planned to continue till at least five in the morning. Mingling around with strangers and more old pals. Everywhere you go, drunk and happy college kids and musicians. It’s a music community wonderland.
It’s time to check out another house show down the street. It’s the same ruckus except we’re packed into a pink living room, bouncing off a mattress leaned against the wall.
Eventually, we contact our housing host. She takes us to her home. And we immediately crash our pulsing heads and numb feet into a shameless sleep.
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