pdf, with thanks to the original sharer
a typical 1969-1970 rock concert — it smells.
The hall until recently functioning as a triple-X porn movie house, attracting
odors closer to the dead-fish than the fresh-popcorn end of the spectrum. The
promoter hasn't seen fit to have the bathrooms cleaned before the show, so
beneath the scent of stale semen you have an olfactory undertow of ancient
urine, sharpening as the show proceeds and your stoned-senseless brethren
migrate through the bathrooms, doing their business in every conceivable way
but straight down or forward. Incense may be burning, and of course almost
everybody is smoking cigarettes as well as dope, and almost everybody
(particularly in Britain) is in serious need of a bath, new sweat over old
sweat under long-worn hippie threads being pretty much the personal-hygiene
hallmark of the psychedelic era.
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