It felt like Spring had finally sprung down on Main St. USA. Complete with a climbing wall and live music. I drank a chocolate shake and watched kids run around with painted faces. Oh, and some band spewed noisy, angsty, dissident garage rock that reminded me of The Minutemen or Television or The Talking Heads perhaps. The clouds hung low but spirits were up and the gray fuzzy back drop held community out there, on the ends of great tentacles, invisibly flapping from their origin in 1979 London or New York. A fabric affair sans leather. Or, so to speak.