I woke up panicking about how lazy I’d been the last two days; how little effort I’d made to see the bands I’d made my goal to see; I had spent two days just chilling. God Damn. I dashed out of the hotel with urgency and purpose to catch Mountain Man, but, alas, the cab never arrived, and I missed their set. So we said, Oh Well.
Girl from Mountain Man:

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Being at the Brooklyn Book Festival—which I also attended in its year of inception, and which has clearly multiplied its prowess since then—was rejuvenating. Really, it’s not a bad place to be at on a Sunday when you’ve been feeling brain-dead for months. I only wish I’d gotten there soon enough to catch more panels than I did.
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