Lets Get Loud

You're talking like an idiot! Expecting me to agree! I know you really really mean it you read it on the internet, you saw it on your screen! - Devon Motz

Apr 23, 2025

The problem with a 1.5L Pocari Seat is that it weighs as much as 1.5L of anything else. As predicted my hangover was quite fierce, but it wasn’t my first rodeo so I saddled up, said goodbye to my comfy hotel room, and was out the door on my way back to Nagoya station. I skatedboarded alongside my luggage; an action that always draws smiles from people walking on the street. It was nearly 25 degrees celsius at 9:30 in the morning and by the time I was at the train station the hangover was starting to kick my ass and I was sweating buckets while burping up the lingering odors of Kaku highball and pig heart. My backpack was overloaded with stuff and straining down on my shoulders as I entered the non-aircondition train station. My face began jettisoning sweat so hard I must have looked like a human sprinkler. I had to wait in line to get my ticket for the Shinkansen, and when I finally did have the stub in my hand I only had 6 minutes to make it through the crowd and I started moving faster, which only produced more sweat. When I got to the escalator that preceded my required platform, oblivious American tourists were standing directly in the way on both sides, not moving, which began my theme of the day: hating almost every tourist that wasn’t me. When I finally got to the top of what felt like the slowest moving escalator of all time I saw a Shinkansen departing from my platform and uttered motherfucker loud enough that the American tourists in front of me turned around in shock. Fortunately that had not been my train. My train had been delayed by 5 minutes and was now inbound. Still I was on the complete wrong end of the platform. Cars 1 and 2 on the Shinkansen are for non-reserved seats, which means that you can always get on the train but there’s no guarantee that there’ll be a seat for you, which might mean you have to stand for the entire ride. The train came in and I was waaaay back at car 16, and I watched the crowds ahead of me thicken as the doors popped open and people began departing. The Shinkansen only stops for as long as it takes to let people depart and takes off as soon as people are on board. I was trying to muscle my way up to cars 1 and 2 but it just wasn’t going to happen so I practically threw myself into car 13 and then began the long arduous task of moving up through the cars which, since the whole thing speeds up rather fast is actually very difficult when you’re lugging a skateboard, piece of luggage and a heavy backpack. At this point I’m nearly stumbling as the train shifts to the left and right ever so slightly when it makes turns and I’m sloppily apologizing for bumping into people in their seats while sweat just pours off my face. After what felt like forever I made it to Car 1 where I tossed my luggage and board up into the storage space and looked at the man who I’d be sitting beside, rivulets of sweat dripping off my nose. Seat secured I went back to the place between cars where the toilets are and just stood in the small stream of air conditioning while my head beat like a drum. If you saw me in that moment I think you easily could have mistaken this for my first rodeo. When I got back to my seat the guy was mercifully asleep and I just sat there. I tried to write but the train ride from Nagoya to Hiroshima goes through a lot of tunnels which killed my ability to use my phone as a mobile wifi hotspot, and much like any public wifi anywhere the Shinkansen public wifi was awful. I tried to drink the heavy bottle of Pocari sweat but with the subtle side to side movements of the train and velocity of the vehicle itself, liquid was doing me more harm than good. This is what you get, you greedy pig - I told myself. By the time the train had reached its stop in Hiroshima I’d pulled myself together and had managed to get some writing done, but holy shit was I worse for wear.

When I got off the train in Hiroshima the station was busy. Much busier than any train station I’d been to previously, including downtown Tokyo. Not only that the crowds were absolutely loaded with white people. I recognized some of the languages even if I couldn’t speak them. Czech and German for sure, Dutch? There were also Indian and Korean people in abundance. There were a ton of Brits too. What the fuck is going on? I thought. Hiroshima is a smaller town than Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka and Kyoto and I’d been led to believe that it was a mostly chill place. Then I realized that it was Good Friday and that for some reason the tourists of the world had decided that Hiroshima was the best place to go on Easter Weekend. I groaned and pushed through the sea of people, walking for what felt like forever until I found a door that led outside. Once there it was still a stupidly long walk through a mall and multiple switchbacks and stairs before I could make it to the street level. There was no wind and dead heat attacking me as I walked the 15 minutes to my hotel where there was mercifully air conditioning in the lobby. I did the check in procedure, but couldn’t make it into my room until 3, and asked them to store my luggage while I just lounged in the lobby for 20 minutes letting the AC dry me out, once more leaving hieroglyphics of sweat all over my t-shirt. All the sweating had effectively eliminated my hangover by this point but I was feeling stiff and dried out so I chugged nearly an entire litre of the Pocari Sweat before I grabbed my skateboard and once more went out onto the street.

I aimed myself in the direction of the Hiroshima memorial sites and soon found myself skating through one of the large open air malls that exist almost everywhere I’ve been in Japan. My stomach was growling and before I went any further I knew I needed to stop for some food. A restaurant serving noodles and a variety of rice rolls caught my eye and after skating a bit farther to see what there was, which was just an infinite amount of options, I went back. I ordered a serving of cold buckwheat noodles, to be dipped in soy sauce mixed with wasabi and diced scallions as well as two rice rolls wrapped in seaweed and an egg drop soup. The cold buckwheat noodles are one of my favorite simple dishes and while I slurped them up a table of elderly ladies looked on in approval. One of the rice rolls was filled with wasabi and the other had umeboshi (pickled plum).

I didn’t particularly care for either of those but I needed to fill the void and before long was back out on the streets. The egg drop soup here I think is what pushed me over the edge and made me human again.

Continuing to skate I hit a double lane of traffic with no crossing, but unlike Nagoya there were no sky walkways, instead I went down into another subterranean mall where I was able to cut across the traffic, as well as several more city blocks. When I came up for air I realized that I was relatively close to the first monument: The Hiroshima Atomic Dome, the only building to survive at all after the devastating explosion of the first atomic bomb in 1945. Originally it had been the Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, designed by Czech architect Jan Letzel and completed in 1915. Letzel actually designed many buildings in Hiroshima, but many of those were destroyed in the Kanto earthquake of 1923. The Atomic Dome was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996.

Note: I plan on getting into the atomic bomb and the attack on Hiroshima in the next piece, but for now we’ll move forward with my day.

When I arrived at the dome the park was filled with tourists. Honestly it seemed a little strange to me that Hiroshima would be such a popular destination for Westerners, especially Americans. At the edge of the park there was a small massing of Japanese, and a few foreigners, all lined up to protest the genocide in Palestine, as well as endorsing total global nuclear disarmament, I raised my fist in support as they began to march and a couple people in the march nodded at me.

It was at this point that I heard someone behind me say: What the fuck is all this about?, in an American accent. I wheeled around my eyebrows cocked to see a small group of young American chuds walking by, and two of them had the audacity to be wearing fucking MAGA hats. The disrespect and ignorance filled me with a white hot rage. Not only had these fucking assholes had the balls to come here of all places, but they were wearing the modern equivalent of a confederate flag and a Nazi swastika rolled into one. My hand gripped my skateboard really tight and every ounce of me wanted to just crank one of them in the side of the head with my wheels, but fascists or no, I reasoned it probably wasn’t a great idea to get arrested for assault in a foreign country. I was so caught up in my annoyance for that American ignorance that I couldn’t, in that moment, fully pay respect to the Dome. I aimed myself out of that park and towards the Peace Flame and Peace Museum, but along the way I got distracted by joyful surprise that I did not expect to receive.

There was a giant youth Skateboard, BMX and Parkour expo on display entitled: Urban Futures. The crowd was loaded with hip skater culture Japanese people, many of them parents, not to mention their livewire kids. It was a nitro injection of joy that I felt from my head to my toes as I first watched these kids who couldn’t have been older than 10 absolutely annihilate a mini-ramp half pipe. This one young girl in orange, pictured in the video below, blew my mind with her abilities.

From here there was also a large ramp park for BMXs doing huge jumps - within seconds I saw a kid do a double backflip - and I was grinning ear to ear.

Beside the BMX course there was also a large flat pad where kids performed freestyle BMX, which is to say: flatland tricks and acrobatics on a bike.

Turning one more time there was a 40 meter parkour course where little kids ran, climbed and leapt between platforms. All of this was under the now cooking mid afternoon sky. I had known that the Japanese love snowboarding and skateboarding, and that only a few years earlier they’d debuted skateboarding at their Summer Olympics, but this was a whole ‘nother level of inspiration. And damn me if those cool skater-swag parents didn’t look like the coolest parents I’d ever seen in my life. After gawking at the four stages I walked to the edge of the main pavilion area to see another full skatepark just loaded with children skateboarding.

Boys and girls from ages 7-15 just mobbed this skatepark. Following each other only seconds away. Some of them were just learning how to ride. Others were stomping out heel-flip varials. You could tell the true hot shot kids because they weren’t wearing helmets or pads, although the majority of them sported at least a brain bucket if not knee and elbow pads as well. There were rails set up so that kids could just ride onto them, no ollie necessary. There were stacks of skateboards at the edge of the park, provided by what I realized was a skateboard shop called Riders that was practically attached to the park. I watched in amazement for twenty minutes as those kids just kept blowing my mind. Sometimes they’d absolutely eat shit and crash, but they’d just tuck and roll or slide it out on their pads. I didn’t see or hear a single kid crying and I saw a lot of them take pretty serious bails.

After a little bit I rounded the park and went into the skateshop where I was greeted by a really friendly clerk who spoke impeccable English. We chatted for a little bit and he asked me if I was going to go ride in the park and I told him - Nah, too old and broken. He laughed but then looked out the window at the swarm of kids in the park and said: Yeah, maybe not right now. I ended up buying a couple stickers for my board as well as a pair of enamel pins from the shop. I thanked him, and then was on my way back to the hotel for a much needed shower.

In a fresh change of clothes I was back out on the streets skating towards Hiroshima Castle. It was still incredibly gorgeous out and I was really soaking up the rays and enjoying the positive vibes all over the city, that is until I got to the castle. While standing on the bridge into the compound I set up my tripod/selfie stick and was in the process of trying to get a good picture. The crowds can make this really difficult. Then this big old guy just walked up and stood directly in front of my shot. Like 2 feet in front of it. I was annoyed but I kept my feelings off my face as I turned to him and said - Uh excuse me? And waved my hand for him to move. Almost instantly he started to lay into me in German and I was taken aback, now the frustration totally on my face. I was like - Woah Woah and then his idiot friend started to tear into me as well. Looking at the water to the side of us I found myself wondering: Am I going to have to Sparta kick these two old stupid old fucks into the water?

Eventually one of the men’s wives came over and chastised them, dragging them away - but the damage was done and there was a thorn in my otherwise good mood. I toured the castle grounds, snagged my pictures and then did a short walking tour, shoes off, of the gatehouse which was filled with tourists. I’m sure it was partially the bad interaction I’d just had but at that moment I didn’t care for any of them.

Eventually I got back out there skateboarding again and just sort of aimlessly coasted around. I found a seawall of sorts that wrapped around the Memorial park. I followed it, a huge grassy park leading up to the edge of an ocean inlet ran parallel to the path and I saw people setting up tents and bbqs. It was a nice feeling seeing all these happy people just enjoying themselves in the sun.

But I was still feeling crankier by the minute. I recognize now that the combination of too much sun, not enough water and the stupid tourists was souring my mood. Instead of getting some water I reckoned it was beer o’clock and ducked into a corner store where I got a tall can of Suntory Beer and nearly slammed it while I had a cigarette. It barely took the edge off my mood and then I started to feel a severe pang in my stomach and knew that on top of everything else I was starting to get hangry. I started to cruise back towards the neighbourhood of my hotel.

Once I was back in my own neighbourhood I just aimlessly circled the blocks a few times. Not only did I not know what I wanted to eat, I didn’t know where to eat. Most other times I was hungry something had just jumped out and caught my eye or there had been some twist of fate calling my appetite. But at this moment I just couldn’t figure out what I wanted. Then I saw a sign that said Okonomiyaki, and my stomach hit the intercom saying - If you don’t eat something soon you’re a dead man, and so I ducked my head into the shop.

Inside there was a long metal grill cooktop and in front of that a foot and a half of countertop with a bunch of stationary diner stools in front of it. On one of these stools sat a man slurping noodles out of a bowl, reading the newspaper, while his wife stood behind the counter watching the news on a TV overhead. He looked up at me and practically audibly rolled his eyes when he saw the gaijin. I asked if they were open and he and his wife exchanged glances before he begrudgingly waved me in and asked me to sit down, tossing the English version of the menu in front of me. Hilariously, the English menu looked more like a picture book, step by step instructions on how to order Okonomiyaki complete with instructions. Okonomiyaki is known as the Japanese Pizza or Pancake, and is traditionally made with a base of a wheat based dough topped with meats and seafood, cabbage and noodles. I ordered the biggest, most deluxe one they had and then asked for a beer. He wanted to know if I wanted the jumobo beer, and then tapped on a whiteboard menu listing drink prices indicating that the small beer was 600 Yen ($6) and the big beer was 1700 Yen ($17). I raised an eyebrow at him and said 1700? He looked at me shrewdly and then laughed before saying in English: English Holiday, and then laughed hard. I knew immediately what he meant. He and his wife knew that Hiroshima was likely to be flooded with gaijin that weekend and as such he’d raised the prices on gaijin's favorite menu items - like jumbo beer. I could even see that the original price had been hastily wiped off so he could put the new one on there. I pointed at my head as if to say you’re a smart guy, and then ordered the smaller beer. He laughed and asked me where I was from and when I said Canada, he immediately relaxed and started to be more friendly with me, joking and asking me more questions. He slammed some noodles down on the grill and let them cook before dolling out a circle of pancake batter and gradually building the meal. Dried squid is a big thing here. It goes on the heat, they add steam and bam you got squid.

Shortly after this 2 young women came in and he warmly greeted them, inviting them to sit directly next to me and then gave me a wink. I laughed and shook my head. I think many other gaijin men would have taken this opportunity to chew the ears of these women but at that moment I was so hungry that all I could do was watch the man make my food. Looking up from my seat I saw that there were pictures lining the top of the bar capturing the owner alongside all manner of people - most notably fighters, as they stood with their fists raised or even the fighter still wearing their gi. While my okonomiyaki was still in its infancy the two young women also ordered their own beers and then what ended up being sauteed spinach with sea urchin. I just love watching people cook, and this man was a master of his grill so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything else until I heard him saying - Oh him? He’s Donald Trump’s friend, in English so he knew I’d hear him. I looked up and waved my hands No No No and he started laughing before I heard him say Canadian to the girls and they went ooooohhhhh. Then he asked how old I was, to which I replied: How old do you think I am? And they all agreed I couldn’t be older than 27. When I told them I was 37 all their mouths dropped and we had a laugh while I shrugged. The water in Canada is very good. The women offered me some sea urchin and spinach, which I tried - not my thing. They tried to chat with me a little and I certainly obliged them in their questions but as the Chef assembled my okonomiyaki with squid, bacon, and shrimp; topped with mayo, okonomiyaki sauce (like a sweeter oyster sauce) and bonito flakes (dried, smoked and fermented bonito fish), I became non-verbal. The grill extends so close to the customers because once the food is finished the Chef cuts it into quarters, offers you a little metal paddle and then slides it right in front of you so you can serve it to yourself on a small plate. They watched on in silence as I obliterated ¾ of mine in minutes before ordering another beer and then chilling for a second to let the initial food settle. It was awesome. So many great tastes and textures all together at the same time. While I was basking in this initial feast a few more customers came in, a young couple and then a single man who must have been a regular because he spoke to the Chef and pointed in my general direction like: who the fuck is this guy? The Chef waved him off and I once more heard him say Canadian. Once I finished my last quarter the Chef came over and looked at me, happy that I’d just gulped it all down. I told him - Thank you, you saved my life. I was so hungry. And he laughed. Then he saw my phone on the counter and asked if I wanted my picture taken, I said sure and then he waved the two girls in to sit closer to me while I laughed this time.

He was cracking jokes to them I couldn’t understand and they started giggling. I wrapped up my beer and then asked for the check. The Chef, who an hour and a bit ago wasn’t sure he wanted to serve me, looked genuinely bummed that I was leaving. He said to the two women what I guess was something along the lines of - say goodbye forever girls as he made his hand like a bird flying towards the door and they giggled again. Once I paid I stood up and then reached out to shake his hand - Seriously, thank you. He half bowed and then produced his business card out of nowhere. I went for one of mine but it appeared that I had depleted the stock I carried in my wallet - I’ll be back - I said and he waved me off to be like yeah sure buddy. Then I pointed to the pictures above the bar and raised my fists and pointed to him - Fighter? He puffed his chest up and said Judo Champion. All Judo Champions in Hiroshima come here. I picked up my bag and gave him a slightly deeper bow than the customary head nod and he smiled at me broadly and then I was out the door. After all that I just went back to the hotel to have a lay down, another shower and change my clothes. But when I did leave for the evening I made sure to bring some cards and although I wasn’t really going back in for anything I stepped inside that okonomiyaki joint and the entire collection of patrons turned to swivel to look at me, the Chef included. I snapped one of my cards between my index and middle finger and extended it over to him with a wink. He took it and said Thank you and I saluted and left.

I didn’t know what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to eat more. I didn’t want to go to a Gentlemen’s Club. I didn’t want to try to squeeze into a bar full of locals. The streets were filled with tourists and I didn’t really want anything to do with them either. So I just walked. I did laps around the busy restaurant and bar filled area. Vertical party and neon lights in every direction but none of it felt like what I wanted. I hated thinking that I was wasting my own precious time in the country, but I just couldn’t bring myself to give a shit about any of the opportunities that surrounded me. I was just about to give it all up and head back to the hotel to crash out when I heard 2 sounds. The first was the sound of a basketball pinging off concrete, and the other was the deep bassy reverb and wail of guitar that always says: Rock and Roll. As I rounded a corner I looked to the sound of the basketball and saw a young boy bouncing the ball as an older man in a newsie style cap, and a big thick pair of denim pants with a wallet chain talked to him. Then I heard the sound of rock and roll again - the sound of heavy locked behind doors. I looked up a little more and saw the poster. It said:

The Ryders - Punk Attitude

The So-Cho Pistons *No Fake* Album Release

With

DJ Yashintaistai & Shiro

Club: Conquest

Holy fucking shit I’d found it. I had found punk rock. I was still wearing my backpack and made a quick pit stop at a Family Mart (a type of convenience store) for a canned coffee and some food for later, because I knew if I was about to get into what I thought I was going to get into, I was gonna want stuff back at the hotel later.

When I got back to the venue twenty minutes later that kid was still bouncing the basketball, although now there were a few other adults talking to him. I walked up the steps and none of them paid me any mind as I went through the front door to see a kid sitting at the door desk. He looked more surprised to see me and in English told me that the cover was 4000 Yen ($40). He could have told me it was $200 and my flight home and I wouldn’t have blinked. I handed him the cash, he gave me a bracelet, a drink ticket and said Have a good time and then I was through the outer doors. Inside I was met with a full on frying pan to the face of late 70’s style Ramone’s esque punk rock from, presumably The Ryders. Their front man was a tall wiry looking dude clad in leather from head to toe, with a backwards rocker style newsie cap while his lead guitar player wore a studded leather vest and hat with a bandana that practically covered his eyes. It was loud. The crowd was into it and it felt like I’d just taken an adrenaline shot to the heart. Holy fuck was it great. They slayed out a set of classic punk rock styled tunes, of course in Japanese, and I saw kids with hearing protection running around in the crowd and people young and old just thrashing out. Oh gimme gimme I thought. As I approached the bar I noticed that there was a big white guy in a large Misfits t-shirt rocking away and he certainly saw me. I got my beer and joined the crowd in rocking out to the rest of the set, my grin broadening as I did so. When the set ended I went outside for a smoke with the rest of the people who’d poured outside.

The big white guy and I looked at each other and smiled before I went up to him, and gave him a fist bump and said how ya doin’ brother? And he replied I don’t want to go home. John was his name and he’s a Navy contractor there in Hiroshima to do some plate metal fabrication on some ships. Originally from Tampa he said he’d been in Hiroshima for about 3 months and had to go home at the end of May, and was not looking forward to it. We shared our backstories and how much we were enjoying Japan. I fuckin’ hate Tampa now - he said. He told me he’d always loved Samurai stuff but had never really known a lot about Japan until he’d gotten there. He said that in his time in town he’d actually gotten to know everyone in the punk scene really well and that they were the most inviting and friendly people he’d come across. It felt like if I was Robin Hood then he had a serious Little John vibe. He gave me the back story on The So-Cho Pistons: their drummer actually ran a record label called Dumb Records and the frontman and bass player of the band owned a record shop in town, although the name now escapes me. I thanked John for the primer and told him I wanted to put at least 2 more drinks in me before the next set started and he gave me a Hell Yeah Brother.

Bass player and frontman of the So-Cho Pistons

Back inside I realized that not only was this an all ages, underground, punk show - but they were serving food too. One of the DJs, and guitar player himself, John would later tell me, was serving up a crock pot of Oden to anyone who wanted it for a paltry 500 Yen ($5). I ordered a Kaku Highball that I made short work of and then another before relocating to the edge of stage left, right next to one of the PA speakers, and tucked enough to the side to ensure that I wasn’t standing in the way of anyone shorter than me, practically everyone. Then the So-Cho Pistons started and just blew my nuts off. The crowd thrashed and moshed and sang along to the songs in a way that made me wish that Devon was here with me. I pumped my fist jumped enough that I spilled my drink and hauled some kid off the floor when the mosh pit sent him flying. This was my shit. This is what I love.

The So-Cho Pistons Describe themselves as: Samurai Ramones Core Style and they were certainly that with a big old dollop of surf rock on top. The bassist and lead guitar player had that deep slung guitar power stance that always looks cool. While the lead singer powered out his vocals into the mic the drummer and guitar player layered in gang vocals and kept grinning their faces off. I pushed through the crowd for another Kaku highball and then had to duck as even this small crowd mustered the guster to crowd surf some of the people. For the last 2 songs before the encore they brought out the lead singer and guitar player from the Ryders and did a song I didn’t recognize before launching into their rendition of The Ramone’s: Rockaway Beach, all in Japanese except for the chorus. Lay it fuckin’ on me.

The set ended but as will always be the case the crowd chanted one more song and they came out for an encore that made the crowd go absolutely nuts, before bowing out, toweling off and immediately loading out the gear. Having stood right next to the PA my hearing was blown the fuck out, but I didn’t care in the slightest.

I was shook with joy and went outside to smoke again and had people just coming up to me clapping me on the shoulder and fist bumping me and asking me if I had a good time, as if my face splitting grin didn’t say it all. John came over and asked me how it was and I told him it was the best thing I’d seen in Japan so far and he slapped me on the back and practically killed his smoke in one drag. Fuck yeah. I asked him if it was over and he said not even close. When I went back inside the bartender was laying out huge crystal ashtrays and the organizers of the event were setting up tables in the middle to set up a communal hot pot of all things. Holy fucking shit this was cool. I went over to the merch table and bought some stuff because how could I not, and the lady there, John would later tell me was the Piston’s Drummer’s wife, couldn’t have been more nice. At this point I just basked in all of it. Slugging back drinks, as if I hadn’t nearly died of a hangover that morning, smoking cigs like I was 22 again and chatting it up with John and anyone he introduced me to. I bought John a shot and he replied thank god it’s the ressurection this weekend. At a certain point a lady came around asking for 1000 Yen ($10) to participate in the hot pot, but food was the last thing on my mind. There was one more white guy there who’d been floating around super low key and John introduced me to him. He was an American ex-pat named Greg who’d been in Japan since the late eighties and worked in shipping and receiving. He definitely had a bit of a gay vibe, but I didn’t give a shit and watching him speak fluent Japanese and get along with all these people made me super jealous, as well as inflate my imagination to think that maybe I could do the same thing. Hilariously John eventually got hungry and tossed his bill into the hat for the hot pot, loading himself up a big old bowl and snacking away while he continued to smoke and drink beers at the same time. It was glorious. It was nothing I could have expected. It was as if between the skateboarding kids and this punk show, Hiroshima defies the grim and sad past, choosing joy as an act of defiance. Despite how much I had enjoyed Daikoku in Nagoya this was the highlight of the trip so far. Eventually I had to reckon with the fact that I just couldn’t keep smoking and drinking and was going to have to hug a Pocari Sweat, take an Alka Seltzer and go to bed at some point. So I ordered one more bottled Sapporro, did a quick round thanking anyone I’d already talked to for their hospitality, shook Greg’s hand and gave him my card and then gave John a heartfelt bro hug and told him: I hope you can figure out how to come back here, you belong here and he smiled at me and said you too.

On my drunken, blissful walk home I popped in my headphones and listened to BRASS thinking about the good old days and wishing that all my favourite people in Vancouver had been there with me tonight. My only regret was that I didn’t get a picture with John. I blessed the right twist of fate that had me turning the corner on the exact right venue to deliver me everything I could have possibly wanted before getting into the hotel, showering off the overpowering smell of cigarettes, tossing that laundry in my vacuum sealed bag and passing out with my ears ringing and my heart singing.