My dad is dead. Seven months before he died, he swung by to catch a baseball game with me. Two days before he came over I was chatting with a friend, Evan, who said that I had to see this band. It was their last show; they had played twice in town in the last week and this was it for a while. Evan and I laughed at the prospect of taking my dad to see Lightning Bolt, me more than Evan. In retrospect, I wish I had taken my dad to this show. He was artsy, well, he was an architect, and I think he would’ve really enjoyed the spectacle and volume of the show, and the math and practice of the playing. Of course, the Giants lost.
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