August 4th, 2013 wasn’t much of a day. Not for m’lady and I, at least not in terms of minutes. Spending several of the previous night’s wee hours at a very happening party kept us in bed for much of the day and we didn’t emerge from our hotel room until about 6pm, squinting in the soft light of the hotel lobby like we had just emerged from his and hers comas, and moving half as fast.

We were too hung over to feel hunger but years of survival experience told us that we had to eat, so we crossed the street to a pizza joint and pep-talked each other through a couple of slices. Arriving at the Bill Graham Auditorium we tried to get it together before going into the venue. My pockets overflowing with posies, I got strangely hassled in the security line and had to line up again, only to be ushered in with a hurried wave from the same security/policeman.

That near-fiasco made us late for the show but neither of us cared much about that. This was night three of Phish’s run in San Francisco and this was what…our sixth consecutive night of live music? After all that (and the previous night’s extra-curricular’s) we were physically spent.

Physically, we spent the first set bouncing between the outer fringe of the vast floor section and – to be perfectly honest – the plush red couches in the venue’s bar. Sometime during the second set we found some friends in the balcony and finished off what turned into an absolutely raging show curled up like sleepy kittens in our newfound seats high above Page side.

After the show there was no question what was in store. We found the fastest possible way to get back to our posh room at the Hyatt (I think we took the space shuttle) and fell into our king-sized marshmallow bed like we were filming a television commercial, where we slept like dead angels.

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