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8:30 was too early. My anticipation had grown as I ambled down State Street, closer and closer to Cafe Nine. It wasn’t necessarily anticipation for the show, nor surging excitement for the bands I had come to see – frankly, beyond a handful of tracks on Myspace, both acts were completely unknown to me. The cause of my anticipation was significantly shallower. I became more anxious, giddy maybe, with every step because when I reached the door of Cafe Nine, I would be able to say, “I’m on the list. Mike Bellmore.”You see, I’d never been included in a list before, at least no list I could proudly declare I was on, one which granted me entrance to a night’s festivities free of charge. Certainly this is vain of me, but for my first ever concert review, perhaps my vanity could be forgiven. Perhaps.
Fortunately, luck saw fit to deflate my ego before it had the chance to burst. As I said before, 8:30 was far too early, especially for a show that opens doors at 9:00. No burly man in black or sullen woman with pink hair met me at the entrance to sell me a ticket. I walked through the door unchecked, all hopes of gratifying myself via declaration of my VIP status dashed. I sidestepped into the orange glow of the bar between two mustachioed men carrying on a conversation in Spanish and awkwardly arranged myself on a corner stool.
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