Tasty Words about Tunes

In honor of the fact that it is now less that 80 days until Coachella, I thought I'd post a little prose ditty I found in a forgotten journal of mine. I suppose I wrote it in the brief minutes between arriving home from Coachella last year, and crashing face-first into my bed for nearly 10 hours. Cheers!


Wake up at 6:30 in the morning to drive 240 miles in only 3 ½ hours to see 12 carefully chosen bands over 12 endless hours to drive home same time same miles. Driving and talking and smoking, eyes stuck to the window, I touch the ticket in my pocket 5,000 times. Dirty lovely people frying in California's desert sun, trash picking for plastic bottles to recycle (sometime in the '90s, I never thought I'd ever find the concept of "free" water to drink). Wilted vegan lettuce wraps, cheese fries for miles, huge beers that must be emptied quickly. Burnt, bleary-eyed—buzzing with the same energy that makes my feet sore from walking and my heart full from singing. And then I have to drive away, through the sand, away from the palms, back to a city where rush hour horns and a never-ending debate on illegal immigrants is the only music I hear.