Puhsausted, as The Rose would say. A fantastic trip, with at least half a dozen blog entries flooding my head, and that’s not even mentioning the concert. Not much sleep—and possibly a mild case of food poisoning as both Top Management and I began feeling squiffy at exactly the same moment, and it lasted almost exactly the same length of time. Erg. Well, at least it seems to be mainly a thing of the past.
Much to write about tomorrow. Allow me to say for now, though, that my boy Bruce crushes all. Someday we’ll look back on this and, it’s not so much that it’ll seem funny, as that our grandchildren who love the rock and roll will look at us in wonderment, at the very notion that we got to actually see Bruce Springsteen from twenty feet away and hear him sing sans microphone. It’s like finding out someone actually saw The Beatles in The Cavern.
We’re lucky to be living at the same time this guy is creating art.
But I'm even luckier to be able to spend eight hours alone in a car with Top Management.
And now, I gotta go to bed.
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