I have been going through boxes of old memories lately. Flyers and ticket stubs from shows and bracelet remnants from festivals overflow the Rubbermaid container that houses tactile retrospections.

Seeing these brittle leaflets, the excitement of the roadtrips makes my ears tingle. The memories are almost like footprints. Here I will retrace the steps a bit.

Okay, so i do sorta regret going to Woodstock 99.

more later.

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