Metaphysical supplies for sale inside

What? Nevermind. You wouldn't understand Dear Reader. I know I don't understand. But then how could I even begin to know if you wouldn't understand? How indeed? Or better, maybe, why? Back in the day, and I have waxed nostalgic, or, rather, wallowed pathetic about this, there were regular punk rock shows at the local Community Center for the Performing Arts, or the WOW Hall. Twenty-six-plus years ago the "fiercely political British punk band" Conflict played their first show. Not here. Somewhere in England I suppose. Champions of all things liberal, leftist, anarchic, etc... Good things. Some manifestation of Conflict is playing tomorrow at the WOW Hall, along with some newcomers to the genre. Scarred for Life. Anima Mundi. Streetlight Cardiacs. I discussed with a co-worker/fellow traveller going to the show. Alas, he has to get up early the next day, and couldn't make it. I considered that I too would have to get up early and get to work. I decided that I needed to do this though. Prove something to myself maybe. Middle-aged punk rockers still spittin' it out are entitled to middle-aged fans. Peers. It is my obligation. I think. So on my break I went and bought a ticket. A single ticket. Four bands for eleven dollars, service charge included, certainly doesn't warrant accusations of turning rebellion into money. There was a time when the day of the week and the time of the show would have been wholly irrelevant non-considerations in deciding whether to attend or not. Now? I can take a nap after work, before the show.