The Greyhound Lover
In honor of the solstice. The chance encounter could be tracked back to a forgotten iPhone 4 charger. By Saturday afternoon of the music festival, batteries had been sacrificed for Snapchats of Flume and Florence and the Machine. Our camp, however, had my functioning albeit ancient iPod. I proffered it and the charger to our elected DJ, an overgrown frat boy I’d met weeks prior while on his bachelor party in Cartagena, Colombia (another time, another blog post). The balmy Delaware evening rolled hazily into night, and when our minivan departed hastily in the morn, I left the charger in his midseries BMW. It had, however, also served my iPhone (back when I was sucking the Apple teet). And lo, I returned to my friend’s house in Columbus with a dead phone, dead mp3, and nearly dead brain. Being 2016, it shouldn’t have posed too great a problem. Alas, in the home of hipsters, iPhone chargers did not abound. Like me, they were chea...