public square, OH
It was the last night of a three day, four show stint in Ohio. I had probably stayed too long for a stop on tour, especially considering the gold mine of material Ohio has been for songwriters. Just about every folksinger I know has an Ohio song, and they're all about breakups, vans breaking down, or something else you always relied on breaking.
I was in Lakewood, by all measures a punk bohemian dream town that stood as a blunt contrast to the dirty crime ridden streets of Cleveland sitting only a few blocks away. It was an activist town with cheap rent and two dollar cigarettes, where poets and musicians lined the streets and it seemed like everyone doodling on a napkin was capable of greatness. The town was only slightly run down and virtually crime free. Most of the bikes lining the street weren't even locked up. It was the first thing I noticed that made me realize this place was a little different.
"Don't they ever get taken?" I asked.
"Yeah, I think two were stolen last year," Jeremy, the local promoter, aka Kid With Hair in the Face, told me.
"Stolen, you mean bikes that were locked up?"
"Locked up?" he laughed and looked at me funny, "who locks them up?" Where I come from, leaning your bike against a wall and walking away is considered an act of charity.
* * *
(pg 1 of 5)
