For context, read PRB Staffer Murray’s first article on New York Jamtronica.
People were flooding out of Stage 48. I went in–if someone was going to save us, I was not going to find him or her in the puke of people spreading across the street.
The venue was in fully lit reality-mode; the fantasy world of glowing balls levitating to loud music in the dark is over. My saviour was handing out flyers that said something-after-party-something. The flyer was Comic Sans-sketchy, but the quasi-spontaneity of the moment helped me ignore it.