On the way to the street fair on Saturday afternoon, I came across this tiny, little truck. The person who drives that tiny, little truck must also be very small, or maybe they're an average-sized person with no legs, because the cab of that truck was severely low on leg room.
I am not always that great with crowds, so I spent most of the several blocks to my friends' booth wading through this mass muttering "I fucking hate people" under my breath, but then I saw this girl in her early teens walk by with PENIS scribbled messily in black marker on the back of her arm. It looked like she had been tagged by an eight-year-old. It's amazing how much that improved my mood. The penis graffiti kept me from punching anyone while I made my way to my friends' booth.
Not that I would actually punch anyone, but everyone was walking slower than I have ever experienced aside from that phase when I was a kid and I took on a personal challenge to practice moving as slowly as possible and would time myself inching along the lawn. I thought it would help me grow up to be a better human mannequin.
It was a relief to finally see these smiling faces, a chair to sit in, and a bottle of water to be had.
This kid was playing an accordion duet with his father, who stood further off to the right. They were singing some song about losing their wife and drowning their sorrows.
Ms. J. was stunning as usual.
I didn't watch this spray paint artist for too long, because I was getting high just standing near him while he worked. He was smart and wore and filtered mask.
This is Knuckle Toes. She was one of the vendors and was seriously much nicer to talk to in her booth than this group of four photos would lead you to believe.
Abigail sat extremely patiently for me while I snapped about 128 pictures of her, because she partially exists in a dimension where her eyes are closed 100% of the time, and my camera has a tendency to catch those moments when she is crossing the planes of existence.
Captain Anarchy! It was a surprisingly hot day, so I am surprised that he didn't go with his Elvis glam white with red satin number.
The fabulous Captain Anarchy is one thing, but have you noticed what I've noticed about some folksy festival goers? There is this terrible thing that happens to fashion at street fairs and festivals where people who look obviously awkward in their carefully put together outfits try to walk around as though this is their natural habitat, but they look kind of embarrassingly awful. No, I simply do not believe your ruse that more than once a year you wear that poorly homemade faux-hippy skirt with that godawful hand-painted jean shirt and tacky dyed feathers clipped into your hair. It does not look fun. It looks like you need to learn to feel comfortable in your own skin.
And yes, going around dressed as Captain Anarchy is different. Captain Anarchy brings the awesome. The 35-year-old woman pretending she was at Woodstock in 1969 does not.
Look at me getting all judgmental! I went with a fairly plain combination of a fitted brown t-shirt, tight jeans, a wide metal cuff, and a chunky, short necklace to draw the eye.
When I took the following photograph, I was trying to capture how bare the street was in the aftermath of the festival, but it turns out that it was still full of people. Relative to the eleventy million bodies that had been milling around for the past many hours, this seemed positively desolate at the time, though. It was a relief to see all the people in their fake I-go-to-festivals-and-I'm-quirky-bohemian attire go home.
Do you know what absolutely DOES bring the awesome? This ferret.
And then, we went out for supper at this lovely vegetarian restaurant: Beetroot.
As a leisurely end to the festival, we took our time, dawdling over spirulina smoothies and vegetable tofu bowls, until shadows grew long on the sidewalk outside our table's window.
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