“Did you recover? Did you recover? Are you recovered? Have you…” Every conversation in the scene today is about surviving yesterday. There is no other dialectic. Scenesters are united in how they are the freaks of their respective families, how going home for an appointed holiday event is a nightmare, how they couldn’t wait to flee out to a club or bar after dinner because they had nothing in common with the fam.
Most of them are lying. The headcount at the Bullfinch last night was place—sparse, we’re sayin’. Hamilton’s was essentially closed. D’ollaire’s had a sort of family nite.
So where was everybody? Unwrapping new guitars, drum heads, and T-shirts that you’ll likely see at sets in the New Year.
How do we know everyone was home and not at the joints? Aw, this is no time for pity.