Unfortunately I was late getting there, so I missed Greg's performance. I'm sure he was awesome.
Quint on the bongos accompanied the guy on the right [I forget his name] as he read poetry out of a dumpstered book called Killing Kanoko. (If this were Facebook, someone would probably remind me who he was, but on LJ I don't actually know too many of my "friends" so he'll just remain a latter-day beatnik.)
Quint accompanied an excellent singer/songwriter on washboard; she played mandolin, then electric fiddle. (Sorry, I didn't get her name either.)
There was a bonfire out back; one of the purposes of this yearly party is to write down on scraps of paper all the things about the previous year that sucked, and burn the papers.
I was thrilled that for once I actually knew a lot of the people at this party. Nevertheless, I walked to the subway alone at 4 AM.
Back in Manhattan, I went to Ray's Candy Store on Tompkins Square and got an order of Belgian fries. At that hour, Ray bolts the door; a guy came in after me to get a shake and was a little puzzled that the door was locked, and Ray said he did that because a guy was bothering him. "They still do that here?" the guy said, genuinely delighted that the neighborhood hadn't become totally yuppified. (Personally, I think as long as there are people who can't afford the rents, there will be people sleeping on the streets.)
