gentlemen of the road

This past weekend felt like a blur; like we were stuck in some kind of alternate reality where Dixon, IL only exists in our dreams and the people and places are straight out of a storybook. Not once did I worry about anything (and I couldn't tell you the last time I felt like that), where I actually didn't mind camping (and only getting mayyyybe 5 hours of sleep total for the weekend?), where people peacefully played Deering banjos on the street, and I drank just the perfect amount of Goose Island's "Stopover" Ale, and everything was almost perfect (minus points for the woman who called Eugene Hutz of Gogol Bordello "rude" when he crowd surfed. "What would have happened, if he came my way? Did he just expect me to be able to hold him up? It's just plain inconsiderate.")
And of course, my four favorite boys from London were at the top of their game.

 
 

 

 

 

 

I wore my yellow socks for Winston (my spirit animal).

 

Festival warriors.