My girlfriend's mother died the night the man burned. She was a bit frail with three separate rare heart defects, but kooky and funny. I think she would have gotten a kick out of Black Rock City but would have trouble with the climate for a whole week. If there was a way for her to see it before she died, I wouldn't have an issue with her arriving in a motor coach like the other old folks.
She liked art, shiny things, blinking lights and weird shit. She used to be a non-scary clown and knew how to make balloon animals. She had a parking meter in her living room (now in my kitchen). The night she died was the only time I thought of her and the only time I thought "Lynda would appreciate this."
I left before the temple burn for a funeral in West Texas. I happen to find out about the wifi near Media Mecca where I volunteered and checked messages.
So the bus loads of tourists are ok with me.
"I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway."
Jesus fuckhole, what the fuck was that?
"Playa dust might be the cleanest, most corrosive filth you'll ever love," Savannah said.