Thirteen nights at the Garden. No repeats. I had a spreadsheet, two roommates who stopped speaking to me, and a manager who thought my grandmother died twice.
By night eight I could tell you which subway car door lined up with which exit at 33rd. By night ten I was eating one meal a day and it was a pretzel. By night twelve a stranger named Dominic was letting me charge my phone in his van and I had stopped finding that strange.
The last night I stood in the tunnel afterward and genuinely could not remember what my apartment looked like. That's the part people leave out of the Baker's Dozen stories — not the setlists, the derangement. The beautiful, self-inflicted derangement.
Worth it. I'd do it again with a worse spreadsheet.
4 comments
- Otis Kingsley
I've told a version of this story badly for twenty years. You told it right.
- Gordon Deitrich
Man. That last line. Come on.
- Priya Anand
The 'four guys who can't decide' line is going on a shirt.
- Ava Sencion
I was at that show. Section 108. I remember the exact moment you're describing.
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