SXSW Friday and Saturday: The War on Drugs; John Velghe; a gigantic stage designed to look like a Doritos vending machine; just wanting to come home
The northbound 481 bus (they call it the Night Owl) that arrived at Seventh and Congress around 2 a.m. Saturday night/Sunday morning was like the last chopper out of Saigon — a very desperate, lawless, death-trampling type of situation. I made it on. Those who didn’t would have to wait at least another hour, or walk many miles, or pass out in a bush somewhere, or kill themselves — all options I was weighing.
It was St. Patrick’s Day, and the last day of South By Southwest, and a Saturday night, and everybody was drunk and angry and tired. Public transportation in Austin, at least during SXSW, is pathetic. It’s impossible to find a taxi. The buses run at infrequent intervals, and when you finally board them, they roll like snails. Fuck this place, I thought as we pulled away.