AfroPunk was kicking. I, however, had Afro Shame and I don’t mean my crazy hair this time.
Here is the short version.
The Count Down
Two months to go AfroPunk tickets bought. Scandalous price! Credit card heavy -er!
Two weeks to go we’re all in a flutter because the tickets have not arrived. Phone calls and cussing.
Five Days To Go
Five days before the Fest, the tickets arrive. I’m advertising the Fest on the radio. “It’s the Oracle, catch me at AfroPunk.”
Thursday before the Fest, tickets on the shelf, looking at me, grinning, evilly!
The last broadcast before the Fest, “See you at the Fest on Saturday, I’m embracing the breeze of change. See you there”. With my big ole grin!
Friday before the Fest, preparing clothes to be the ultimate in cool and Boho. Caught up with friends had a great meal out. As Windies (West Indians) say, skinning teet! So there was much laughter and joviality.
Ticket in hand as I clutch my stomach with great spasms of pain from food poisoning.
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