That reminds me. My friend dorothy_parka once wrote this hilarious story about taking a Greyhound up to Montreal with some loser ex-boyfriend to see Throbbing Gristle at some tiny miserable place called Checkers (which closed shortly afterward, though she didn't know that), and staying at the cheapest possible Concordia dorm and eating, as I recall, some horrible fries at a completely recognizable local cuillère graisseuse, as we used to say back in the day. And I found myself feeling responsible for the crappy time she had, because I had almost certainly been at the same show and could have put her up and found her something nicer to eat, even though a) the story was ostensibly fiction and b) I didn't actually meet her till many years later.
At least I think it was Throbbing Gristle. But now I can't find the story to confirm it.
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At least I think it was Throbbing Gristle. But now I can't find the story to confirm it.
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