In honor of the Third Coast Audio Festival, and my friend Dennis (front center, beardy) visiting our one-pony town, we held the first annual First Coast Audio Festival: in a basement rare books store, with pizza, nice scotch, and cheap wine. Because that’s just how we roll.
“Uh, that greasy pizza box is sitting on top of a signed book by Adlai Stevenson,” I noted. “Cool?” I was eyeballing the e.e. cummings paintings leaning nearby against the stacks, John Adams’ framed copy of the constitution.
“Eh,” the technically-an-employee shrugged. “Yeah.”
Every now and then I would sneak upstairs to the art gallery, which was brightly lit and completely empty at this late hour, pristine and silent — exactly the way I’ve always wanted art galleries to be when I visit them. I padded along quietly in my rubber-soled shoes and imagined that this was my house.