No one cares. Between 1,500 and 2,000 women have come from around the country and beyond to see the bands and the spoken word performances and the films and the workshops, but they've also come to see one another. We get our passes and head outside. Some little kids are selling lemonade and cookies and discussing their profit margin. I have the first of many Kathleen Hanna hallucinations.
Rumors fly around.
Bikini Kill reunion. Heavens to Betsy reunion. We linger by the theater looking anxious and sleepy. A girl named Redd pedals up on a beater bike and asks if we need a floor to crash on. She has a very firm grip and feels like a savior, but we have shelter covered.