Sicked out of work to drive up from Myrtle Beach. Met up with a girl friend (two words) who had scored the seats. Not sure she had ever seen a show before, or since, but we bonded a little. Not near as much as I might have liked, maybe. Crashed on the porch couch, back to the beach for the dinner rush the next night, none the worse for wear.

Still have a nice "where the wild things are" tour shirt from that night, even though I put a big hole in it falling down stupid at a Durham Bulls game later that summer.