Tales of the American Jet-set

So as luck would have it, the Brian Jonestown Massacre were playing on my last night in DC. Thankfully, I arrived extremely early to get a ticket as they had sold out the tiny venue by 8. I killed some time for a couple hours then went in and right away ran into Collin. He didn't seem too surprised to see me, probably since I've casually run into him in no less than, Fargo, Portland, SF, and now DC. My old pal Travis was startled when he saw me. His double-take gave me quite the laugh. We went for a walk and I let T cry on my shoulder awhile as he complained the usual complaints about the tour. At midnight it became my birthday so T bought me a beer and gave me a BJM shirt. For his generosity, and due to the fact that the band seemed to disappear for load-out, I ended up roadie-ing about 85 percent of their gear and merch. I have a strong back and didn't want my emaciated friend or some waifish rocker to strain themselves. It was a sweltering, sticky DC summer night and by the time I was done my clothes were more wet than if I had showered with them on. As my custom, I quickly told them all to fuck off and cabbed it back to the Watergate.