Groovetti DJ set, Saturday the 10th
Ten at night in the shop. Five dollars. Bring shoes you can slide in. Rest on Repeat play an acoustic set the following Friday at seven, free.
Board
Notes from the wall in the back of the coffee shop.
Pull Punch listening party, Saturday, in the shop
We're playing the whole record start to finish on the good speakers. Free. Bring nothing. Sit on the floor if the couch is taken. It will be taken.
Green army jacket, the party behind the tannery
Saturday night. You told the best joke about a bassoon I have ever heard, then a guy dropped a keg on his foot and you got him a chair. I never got your name.
I was the one in paint-stained overalls holding somebody's cat. This board is the only place I know to look.
You were reading on the Dry Creek footbridge
Thursday, around five. I asked what page and you said 212. I said something stupid about the weather. You laughed anyway.
I am in the back booth most Fridays, the one with the cigarette burn shaped like Ohio.
Free: three milk crates of old National Geographics
They live in my bathtub and I would like to take a bath. Yellow spines, mostly 1970s. Come get them. Bring a friend with a car.
You had the last Pull Punch cassette
We both reached for it at the same time and you let me have it. I want to give it back, or at least buy you a coffee.
Tall, silver rings, you laughed at the jester on the alley poster. I said nothing because I was busy being nervous.
Zine swap, first Sunday of the month
Bring ten copies of whatever you made. Leave with ten different ones. Staples are provided. Quality is not.
The drummer on the couch cushion, Elm Street
Your friend's birthday. You played the whole first Ramones record on a cushion and a bucket and I clapped the loudest. I have the bucket now. Long story. It's yours if you want it.
To whoever leaves poems in the bathroom
I found them. Some of them are good. Please stop taping them over the mirror. Actually don't. Keep going.
The Sex Cult of Mount Ryan and Students of Thought
Feed and Grain basement. Six dollars at the door or a can of soup. Doors at 8, first band whenever the drummer finishes his sandwich.
Looking for a bass player
We sound like a wet dog chasing a train. If that sounds good, text 719-555-0177. Practice is Wednesdays in a garage that smells like paint thinner.