To get to the Craneway you drive through a couple of miles' worth of huge, ugly/beautiful industrial complexes, increasingly forbidding and desolate-looking on a Saturday, and you start wondering why on earth would anyone come down here for a deafening ordeal of minimal guitar excess, or really for any recreational reason, and then suddenly you're there, and it all makes a little more sense.
Last night was another example of a total stranger volunteering to do something unexpectedly awesome for me, and I'll write about all of these Bay Area/American incidents as soon as I have time, because well it makes a sort of difference overall.
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