New series of very short posts recounting specific moments in my life.
I was living at Post St. in San Francisco, a punk house of some renown. We had tons of people staying their all the time. Bands, friends, and friends of friends from around the world. There was one kid, a traveler type, beard, dreadlocks, back pack, who told me he was part of a train hopping gamelan group which would convene in random cities, create their instruments out of discarded materials, and give free concerts.
Today such a thing would have a facebook group and an instagram hashtag. But this was the 90s, and if it existed at all, its now lost to history.
Chance encounters like these are one of the few things I miss about living in over crowded punk houses.
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