I had the worst set of my life last night at a venue that's notorious for being rough. It's on every night of the festival, and I've only missed it twice, but last night it shook me harder than I've been shaken in a long time.
But let's be honest: I have nothing to complain about whatsoever. I'm half-way across the world and I barely even remember that most days. What a bizarre fucking realization that is for me every time I remember it. It's raining off and on here today, and people hate rain, but I don't. I love rain. Before it rained I was invited to go the beach, which I passively declined by not meeting up with people in the hostel lobby, instead opting to read free books from Hennepin County's online library system. This is really great. It looks like it's raining again, and goddamnit if I'm not utterly beaming. Fuck you Exford Hotel; you can't break me. I'll be back again tonight so buckle up motherfuckers.
(Don't read too much into this post. It was written for cathartic purposes. I felt like posting it because, realistically, I'm an egomaniac)
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