The explanation, as Losito sees it, was right under Ink's war-painted noses the whole time. The bongos may have been made of cardboard and duct tape, and the bumper stickers may have been cheap, but at the end of any given performance, two-thirds of the audience left with at least one such trinket in hand. Primitive Ink was real. It had to be. Said so right there on that Primitive Ink Frisbee.
People have to hear it on the radio.
They need to read about, see it on a T-shirt. Years of frenetic performances may have done wonders for Primitive Ink's fan base, but they eventually took a toll on Losito. He decided last winter that it was time to settle down. That's when he got the notion to open a coffee shop, a place that would display local artwork. Maybe host an occasional Sunday-night show.