[Excerpt from my sketchbook, opening for mini-sode for Wingnut, "LARP, Confidential ®"]
Beginning to feel like all the Faire participants are escapists in their own right.
Life crams itself into every nook and cranny within the few days we're there, and it revives my best memories of art school, building sets for theater and even childhood. The euphoria is then wrapped in a sleeping bag, deep-fried in THC, homemade mead and lust. Dust lightly with Casa Boogers and serve between 59º - 96ºF.
Besides, where else can I hammer in tent-stakes with a 4-inch heel red pleather knee-high fuck-me boots?
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