If I Were To Write A Piece Of Flash Fiction About Coachella 2019,
fiction·@evan.fleischer·
0.000 HBDIf I Were To Write A Piece Of Flash Fiction About Coachella 2019,
I would wipe my brow and tell you how good it was — that is, here, in June of 2018 — and how I can’t wait for you to catch up. I would hold my breath and wait for the cameras that first appeared in The Truman Show to move their attention somewhere else before exhaling. I don’t know how to cover large-scale concerts anymore, I’d whisper. Everything about it leaves me at a loss: I know it’s there; I’ve gone to comparable concerts like that; I appreciate that a live version of these songs exist amongst other live versions of these songs — but how does that fit with how some of the news business is currently constructed? It doesn’t. So I time-traveled. Though I might have done something wrong — maybe jumped to an alternative timeline? — because — well — to begin with — I didn’t end up at Coachella: I ended up at The Burning Man that Grover Norquist attended in 2014, but there was a key difference, and that was the fact that there was a band of Grover Norquists doing what I can only describe as gentle acid-rock doo-wop on stage in terrifying feats of unison that left me so startled I tripped on someone having a trip and landed back here. So you might have to give me a minute.