The banner at the entrance was shinier this year, maybe even bigger by a dozen square feet.
Donaher noticed it immediately, tapped Clute, pointed, said “fancy.” and Clute understood.
Tanya Dawkins walked behind them, head down.
She was new, new to the city, sometimes seemed new to the world.
Donaher and Leslie had given her a nickname, just her initials, TD, but at least that differentiated her from the Tanya at Bullings Market that everyone loved.
Clute leaned back to TD.
“Adder used to be the raddest underground street fest. Bangin’ bands no one ever heard of, weird art, even fucked up, hilarious twists on carnival games.”
Leslie had to work and left Donaher with two instructions, actually more like one blended together: Show TD a good time at Fatter and don’t try to set her up with your scuzzy friends.
They walked underneath the shiny banner that said 35th Annual Adder Street Festival, which everyone now called the Fatter Street Festival because the trucks with carnival food had taken over one whole side of the midway.
Bands with real recording contracts played on a stage sponsored by a soft drink company.
There was still a local stage, and some decent art, and you could drink cheap if you knew a bartender and were smart enough to hang on to your cup.
Donaher led the way to the corner of the fest where the artist vendors hung out, playing their own music, passing joints, telling stories.
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