jack_babalon | Aug. 4th, 2013

280 Elizabeth Street on the eve of destruction. Last night of Dad's Garage Theatre before it gets razed to make way for another slab of highrise hive complete with a Fro-Yo and a restaurant serving appetizers for a main course. Crashed the scene with Teddy Bear through the backdoor, where we drifted through the ghosts of a 1,000 stories slugging back shots of Irish Whiskey unchallenged. Danced for the first time in ages, listened to traveler's tales along strange stages and smoked endless bowls with old friends in between. Tears and dreams and a wake for a shack that served as home port to so many of my friends' careers.

Yet, somewhere out there far from the lugubrious vows and drunken festivities, there's some angry and talented kids ready to do the next 'Zurich Plays' or 'Clockwork'. They're not old enough to drink yet, they're still writing Kafkaesque poetry or making bootcamp mistakes with earnest hearts. And they'll find a stage one day or build one from the dust of this scene and something dangerous and beautiful will rise again to take the place of what was lost tonight.

Still, what do I know? If it was up to me we would've set the place on fire and hot-wired the bulldozers parked out front, riding them around as we terrorized trustafarian nouveau-highlanders with abandon.

Ah, but no one ever listens to the token novelist in the crowd.