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Margaret Kildray (Host/Narrator of Callzone Media Book Club)
Callzone Media. Hello and welcome to Callzone Media Book Club, the only book club where you don't have to do the reading because I do it for you. We are doing our summer beach read. Wherever you find the beach, I often find it at creeks and during our summer beach reads, we read something that's a little longer than we normally feature so you can bank up a few episodes for a road trip or a summer hike or sitting by the creek and watching the creek. Which is nicer actually, when it's not painfully horrendously hot out, which it is right now. Really excited about how in the future we're only going to have two seasons, summer and Hellmouth. Nine months of summer, three months of Hellmouth. That's what we have to look forward to anyway. But right now we are continuing our read through of Locust House by Adam Gennady. This is part three. Locust House is a novella about the San Diego punk scene and the fucked up but still empathizable people that you find there. It's part three of four. You should listen. The first two parts. I'm not going to tell you you have to. But I'm gonna tell you you should. Last week we met two people, partners, James and Francis, who got elotes and ran into their other friend Joey, who's been kind of going off the rails lately. Then they rendezvoused with their other pal Tyler and decided to go to the closing party of the East Street House, AKA the Avocado Club, AKA Locust House, so named because the members of an electrifying grindcore band called called the Locust, they all live there. And that's where we'll pick up for this week with James narrating. I mean, I'm narrating, but you know, it's a sort of interview ish format. This particular part of the book. The book is written in a lot of different sort of interesting formats. Here we are. This is James. There's this line from Cassavete's great film Opening Night, where Gina Rollins character says, when I was 17, I could do anything. It was so easy. My emotions were so close to the surface, finding it harder and harder to stay in touch. That's how it was. I mean, I wasn't exactly young. Frances was. I wasn't. But here's the thing. I was a ghost in high school. I had no friends to speak of and my everyday plan was survival. I wanted to live through the day without confrontation and get home so I could hide in my bedroom. And what? I don't know, draw, read magazines, stare at the wall. My youth was a total shitstorm after elementary school, which was great. And so was my childhood. A good, ideal, sweet one, where I felt loved and safe and respected. I hit middle school like a piece of hamburger dropped on a grill. Walking the halls of PB Middle, I felt like a fox, hunted constantly in a world where no one had ever seen a fox, but really Intensely wanted to eat one on a bun with bacon and mayo. I hated bacon and I hated mayo. But more than anything, I hated myself. Of course, as it goes, people hated me because I hated myself. And because of that, I was scared of my shadow. And inarticulate and full of heavy, awful weapons grade anxiety that sabotaged me at every step. I wanted to die because I knew I was nothing. And I wanted to die because I knew no one would ever care what I had to say. My life was powerless. I saw the future as a bland, stultifying thing that looked like those horrible shitheads from Friends sitting on a couch in some fancy ass well lit New York coffee shop, trading mild insults. I hated them. And I hated that the future, my future, was headed that way. At the time, I had no other frame of reference to tell me life could be something else. What I saw, what I knew, was what I was given by mainstream media. And if adulthood looked like must see tv, I wanted out. No future, no fun, no hope, no beauty. I was wrong, of course. But at that time, my true youth, I was a dog that had been kicked so often I flinched at every tremor. I didn't have that impressionable, romantic, idealistic teenagehood like a lot of people. That came later. It came in my early 20s. And it came when punk rock found me in the audience of that Che Cafe show and dragged me in. It was a moment that arrived when I least expected it. And beyond giving me good music, it told me life could be shaped however you want, as long as you work hard and dig for new options. The important thing was to fight every day to make your life what you wanted it to be. I had so many people telling me life had to be this one set thing. And finding out that I didn't have to listen to them, that I could come up with my own way to live. Busted my world in two. Which is to say I fell head over heels in love with the brutalest, smartest, meanest kind of punk rock. And it opened up life like a giant window with all the sunlight in the world streaming in. And that all led to the final house show at 2411 East St. The Avocado Club, the E Street House, the Locust House, whatever you called it. The place was an epicenter for things free of bullshit. A burning atomic center point to the neighborhood and the scene and punk rock in general. Frances One of my strongest memories of that time has less to do with the party than the aftermath. Everyone moved out of the house, right? And as soon as they were gone, the new tenants hung an American flag from the second story. It went suddenly from the cool house on the block where the best bands lived to the fucking White House. You have to remember, this was just a year after 9, 11. And a lot of us had some pretty. I don't want to say, well, yeah, okay. Anti American sentiments at the time. We were angry and we felt let down. Some of us. A lot of us were sure our government had caused it. Even if it wasn't an inside job like some people say. We were at the very least responsible for waging constant global war for money and calling it justice. It's an awful thing when you grow up thinking that you and your country are the good guys and then you find out it's all bullshit. The day I realized we weren't as noble as I'd been told. Fuck, man. It was a crushing moment. It changed me. I've never been the same. From a very young age, I've been looking for community. Most of the time, you were let down. But sometimes, if even for a short while, it felt like we were all in it together. That's how our scene felt. And losing that house was a huge blow. Maybe not for everyone, maybe not even for the bands or the people who lived there. But for me, it was a symbol of a better, smarter, more ethical life. It seemed firm and substantial. It felt like something that couldn't be taken away from us. That's one thing I've learned. People say that there are things that can't be taken from you. Everything can be taken from you. The place you live, your friends, your family, your health, your youth, your sense of self or your dignity, your freedom, your confidence, your spirit, anything. There is nothing in you that's yours to keep. If someone else wants it bad enough, you try to hold on to it. But life is inherently unfairly violent from our scene. And even more so, at that last party, I felt a kind of togetherness that was like what we experienced in the weeks following 9 11. People were suddenly good to each other, and it seemed like we were all. Please get that. It seemed like we were all closer than we were before. Of course, that was over fast in both circumstances. The party was shut down by the cops and everyone left. People stopped watching the news after the attacks because they couldn't take the footage or because they had to live their lives to get by, to keep moving. I understand that. I remember sitting on the couch at my mom's house with James and my sisters Sadie and Rebecca, watching the news reports with the towers burning and people jumping out, holding hands, falling, falling. Ugh. And us sitting there crying all day, so scared, so uncertain. Around dinner time, a couple of my friends showed up with a fucking pizza. They wanted to hang out and then go to a show at the Che or the Epicenter or somewhere. I was like, what the fuck? I didn't say what the fuck, But I did say, haven't you guys been watching the news? My friend Timmy Willits, standing in the doorway holding the pizza box, shrugged and said, kind of, I know something happened, but like, but they didn't care. People move on or they don't feel something as deeply as they should. I thought that after 9 11, there should be some kind of greater togetherness in our culture. Just like I felt as though the energy of that party would carry on. In both cases I was wrong. And it was incredibly isolating. Situations like those are moments of innocence. And once innocence is replaced by cynicism or even a lack of concern, it can deal a heavy blow. You experience closeness, but then it's a temporary closeness. And once you realize that it's over, then things start feeling pretty lonely. I've always wanted people to join together in their neighborhoods, their scenes, or in their families, whatever it is. But the fact of the matter is, Americans are bad at togetherness. We're afraid of it. Or we label it as this dangerous subversive thing, this toxic kind of discord in the face of rugged American individualism, which is nothing but bullshit and self sabotage. Or we find it and it feels so good, it feels natural. But just as soon as we're brought together, we either let go or allow ourselves to be pulled away from each other. Or we stop caring. We find other things to take up our interest. We get distracted. I wanted to take the flag off that porch and burn it. Just like I wanted to kick George W. Bush's grave, half smirking, monkey face in. I wanted to take the flag in order to keep the house alive, which wouldn't work, of course. The end happened. It was over. People go on with their lives and sometimes what they do next is even better. Or people forget. They allow themselves to be caught up in something and then they brush it off. The house was not the house anymore and it never would be again. I knew that. But I had to do something. I had to act. I needed some sort of pure, driven cleansing to happen. I had to burn the flag. There was no other option. Much like, dear listeners, the compulsion we feel to throw to ads. And trust me, I do wish there was any other option but No, I feel compulsed. Here's the ads.
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Margaret Kildray (Host/Narrator of Callzone Media Book Club)
And we're back. For months after the party, James and I had a vague, sort of unrealized plan to steal the flag. We talked about it often, but like most of our plans at the time, it never got off the ground. One night that summer, James, Tyler, Sadie, and I stayed up late drinking this big jug of Carlo Rossi Burgundy and listening to Hela's newest record over and over again on both speeds like Tyler loved. At some point, 4am no later, maybe 5, I knew it was time. I got up off the couch and shushed the room.
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Margaret Kildray (Host/Narrator of Callzone Media Book Club)
Okay, listen. Okay, guys, let's go capture the goddamn fucking flag, I said. And then everyone was excited. We trooped on down there, sticking to the alleyways and the darker side streets, stopping to sit on curbs or garden walls and drink the last of the win, full of noble purpose and what we thought was righteousness. For Tyler and Sadie, and maybe even James, it was more a fun, crazy thing to do. I wanted them to feel like I did, but I knew they didn't. Still, they were caught up in the moment, and I let myself imagine that they felt it just as much as I did. I needed to believe we were all doing this thing for the same reason, even if they were faking it a little. It felt good to be together. It scared the hell out of me to think James, of all people, didn't feel this as much as I did. Knowing I would later find out that he didn't care as deeply as me. That he didn't have the same ideals, was heartbreaking. We're not together anymore, but we're still friends. I wish he was more like me, but maybe he's happier because he's not. I'll give him that. I can understand wanting some distance from the shitty evilness of the world. I don't know. Maybe I wish I was more like him. Back then, I lived for parties and believed in having fun above all. I still do, but my work keeps me away from enjoying myself a lot of the time. James has always been optimistic, and he lets things slide off his back. I've been that way before, but I'm not that way now. Anyway, we took our Time, talking a lot, saying big things and letting the grandness of what we were about to do color our speech with bold, wild ideas and words that would sound preposterous the next morning. James, who was happy drunk, kept saying, I feel like Robin Hood. And I did too. We had a purpose. We were going to strike back for the neighborhood and the scene and win one for the good guys. So we got to the house and there were cops everywhere. The place was a mess. A fire truck, an ambulance squad, cars with lights spinning and flashing on the line of houses and parked cars. What? Said Sadie. She just kept saying it over and over again. What? What, What? A couple EMTs were on the lawn working on this older woman in a torn open pink bathrobe, full on cpr. Then the paddles, which was a horrible thing to see. The paddles pushed down, the body flopped up, then the paddles again. We stood there and watched them try to bring this poor fucking woman back to life. And we stood there and we stood there and we stood there and they weren't having any success. But by then, Tyler and Sadie and I were crying and, ugh, I hoped to God they'd save her. Nothing happened. They kept working. We turned around and walked home. The sun was beginning to come up over the housetops to the east and the four of us walked together and no one said a thing. It was like a death toll ringing the final toll. Not just for the woman. I hope she lived, but I never found out, but for this thing I wanted so badly to be a greater part of my life. We never went back. Tyler. It was good to hang out with kids like Frankie and James, because that was really not me. I wasn't searching for myself like they were. And I didn't need the same things they needed. I've always had a plan and these days I am exactly where I hoped I would be. People change, but I haven't changed much. The wild, manically drinking, drug guzzling Tyler Monahan isn't much different from Dr. Tyler Monahan because I've always been on this path. Frankie and James, they were, they are impulsive, naive, emotional. Everything they did, they did last minute and reckless. And most of the time what they tried to do didn't work. There was no premeditative thought, none at all. It was on the fly and unexamined and you've got to be very good or very lucky to succeed that way. Frankie and James believed in things I enjoyed but didn't necessarily have to have. They believed in the bands and they believed in the scene. They believed in finding community and in people joining together in the name of something bigger than them. I was around for all that, especially the shows and parties. But really, this sounds more dismissive than I'd like. I was just blowing off steam. Things like that party were fun, but they were just parties. My prime directive was getting shit done. The rest was just. The rest was all diversions. Great, fun, thrilling diversions. But it wasn't all that important to me. You don't dwell on the past. You move forward. And if you do that and plan well and make calm, rational, deliberate choices along the way, you'll find the present is a lot better than what came before. We all make mistakes and we all lose things. But if you spend too much time looking back, you'll never go anywhere. Much like Dear listeners, how the ad transitions aren't going anywhere. They never look back. They continue forward as they consume. Much like you will here's Ads.
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Margaret Kildray (Host/Narrator of Callzone Media Book Club)
And we're back. The wild Tyler Monahan didn't exist. On weekdays. I studied. I spent long hours in the chemistry lab, and I tutored. And I moved toward my goal at a nice even keel. When I got there, it happened faster than I thought. I found I was happier than I imagined I would be. Released, contented, secure in my place, if a. A little lonely, because it was, still is. Something I did on my own. Frankie and James have both had, well, to be honest, much harder lives than mine. I feel bad for them, of course, but we get what we work for and that's. That's what they got. I'll always stand behind them and have their back. I mean, this is serious. I'm. I'm serious. I'd give my life for those two. And I say that without exaggeration. But I know what I am and I know what they are. And we're different animals. I get sad thinking about them sometimes. And when I do, I feel old. I feel creaky and lonely and kind of. Kind of, maybe cold. Yeah, cold. But then I remember the good things I Have the fact that we're only. How would you say this? Only very tangentially involved in each other's lives these days is. Is hard sometimes. We've talked about that, the three of us. Some fantasy. Part of me would love it if we all lived in the same house one day. We could grow old together, keep each other company. But I know it's just that fantasy. We're far too different now, just as it was back then. Sometimes I think we are truly a lost generation. Not in the romantic, literary Paris, 1920s way Frankie always hoped, but. But lost in the sense that America is this huge, vast, enormous place where everyone you know lives so astronomically far away from each other. There's a deep, sad estrangement in Americans. We're all so spread apart and isolated, living these remote, far flung lives. We've chosen this. Maybe we could have chosen differently, I don't know. But this is what we wanted. I am not at all nostalgic for those days. I believe in living right now and being the best, happiest versions of you that you can be. And the past be damned. Just the same. I'd be lying if I didn't say the wild Tyler Monahan. And he's still there. Wouldn't love to step back into the madness sometimes and feel all that. All that energy bursting around him. Energy that was not really his, but that he enjoyed nonetheless and was caught up in and, if only for a short time, felt wholly, substantially alive. James. The first few hours of the party were spent moving room to room, watching whatever band was playing. At that point, my bottle of Mad Dog was gone and I was floating along, stupidly, in a way I never would again, seeing the sights like an astronaut on a new planet or a tourist in my own neighborhood. The later it got, the more people arrived until you could barely get through the halls. At some point, we ran into Ted Boone in a leather jacket and a very dirty Joy Division shirt, who was visiting from Portland and dragged me, Tyler and Frankie out behind the house and made us do shots of brandy with him while he told us about his plans to join the seminary. You guys, I'm doing it. Next time you see me, I'll be Reverend Ted Boone. He made the sign of the cross in the air. Tyler shook his head. I don't believe that you. There's no way you hate Jesus. I think that's really sweet, said Frankie. Ted Boone smiled, pleased. Yeah. Yeah, I like that. It's sweet. You really believe in God? I asked, handing the bottle back to him. Is that A trick question, because I'm pretty sure you told me different, like many, many times. Tyler laughed and took the bottle from Ted Boone. That bumper sticker on the old Boonemobile, the one that said executing Jesus for treason is the reason for the season. I remember that. Ted Boone laughed and shook his head. I believe in whatever will get me where I want to go. That's kind of fucked up, I said. James Tyler Francis, welcome to my world. Drink more brandy, you will start to believe in many things, great and small. Drink now because I am in a grand amorous mood and I must find sexual companionship of the young and firm breasted kind, or I will wither like the vine without shade. You're kind of a villain, Ted Boone. You know that, right? I bank on it, he said with an evil grin. I took the bottle from Tyler and unsurprising, screwed the cap. After that I was fucked. And dear listener, that's where we're gonna leave it today, right as the party gets going. Obviously you'll notice that this is not a story about a party. I mean it is, but you know, it's not a story about a party. It's a story about our lives and who we are and who we used to be and all of that. Hazel, who helps behind the scenes, says, I really like how this novella plays with time scales, stretching a few hours into a whole book and compressing a lifespan in between. The way that Adam writes about punks growing out of the scene is really relatable to me. We can't burn bright forever. And what do you do with yourself once you've burnt out? And it's sad, but it's also like fine. Life has phases and this book so perfectly captures what it's like to be young and what it's like to have been young once. Really good shit. Thanks, Adam. I guess I would say that that's how I feel about it too. I really think by showing different people's perspective on that particular thing, I think it does a lot of good. Or the story's good because it shows that I am not feeling articulate. It has been a long day of smog. Not smog, wildfire, smoke. But I really like the like balance of nostalgia and non nostalgia. Right. Like a lot of the characters like ah used to be kind of crazy. That's kind of shitty, right? And other people are like, fuck. I thought we all meant it when we said we were trying to do this like revolutionary shit. And you know, other people are like, yeah, this is always just the stage. This is Always I was going to be. And that's how it is. And I think that's one of the main things about being young is thinking that you're going to enter a static thing, that adulthood is this static thing. And you're going to your friend group in your early twenties is the only friend group you've ever had in your early 20s. And it feels eternal. And then people burn out or die or drift away, or you do these things, you know, I don't know. That's why this book stuck with me. Like I said, I read it all in one night the day I picked it up out of my stack of Adam Gennady books. Because I did what you all should do, which is I found when Adam Gennady was speaking, I actually didn't know his work particularly well yet, but I went to go see him speak and was pretty blown away by the reading he did. And so then I just bought his entire collection of books because that's what my brain says is the thing I should do. But who is Adam Gennady? You might be asking. You're probably not asking because I've read his bio twice before on this thing, but I'm going to read it again. Born in San Diego, California, Adam Gennady now lives on a six acre farm in rural Kansas near the towns of Lawrence and Tonganoxie and a half hour outside Kansas City, Missouri. On September 26, 2026, the Numero Group will reissue Gennady's 2005 debut Talking Songs record Run, Hide, Retreat, Surrender on 12 inch vinyl in October of 2026. His 14th book, Wild Horse Shit, Horseshit's Two Words will be released by Bread and Roses Press in conjunction with three 1G. Recent works have included the Home and Away Quartet and the Talking Songs collection, the World of Today and the World of Tomorrow, issued on cassette in 2021 and lathe cut CD in 2026. Gennady's work is published and issued by Bread and Roses Press, 31G, hello America, stereo Cassette and the Numero Group. And I'm your host Margaret Kildray and I have music I don't know. I plug some stuff I don't plug as often. You can find my black metal band Feminade School, which was me and several other amazing musicians. We haven't put out anything in a long time but is real good. And you can also find my Sad Girl Beep Boop Electronic music at Nomadic War Machine and other Sad Girl electronic music, a two piece band called the Lathe. You can find all of these things wherever you listen to music. Bandcamp is a good one. I'd recommend that over Spotify. I will be back next week with one more Locust House. And don't forget about our girl Agnes from the first episode she will be back and fighting. Until then, carry the words of Ursula K. Le Guin. We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. And yeah, we can and we will imagine a better world together. Bye everyone. It Could Happen here as a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media, Visit our website coolzonemedia.com or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to podcasts.
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Podcast: It Could Happen Here
Host: Margaret Kildray (Cool Zone Media Book Club)
Episode Date: July 19, 2026
This episode continues the summer “beach read” of Adam Gnade’s novella Locust House, centered on the San Diego punk scene and the complex, deeply human people within it. Host Margaret Kildray reads and discusses Part 3 of 4, focusing on the closing party of the Locust House—an anarchic, euphoric, and ultimately bittersweet touchstone for a community in transition. Through shifting narration by characters James, Frances, and Tyler, the episode explores themes of youth, community, disillusionment, and the fleeting nature of togetherness.
James' Early Alienation:
James’ narration reveals a lonely, anxious adolescence, describing high school as a “total shitstorm” and identifying with a hunted animal. Punk offered a transformative alternative:
“My youth was a total shitstorm after elementary school...I was a ghost in high school...Punk rock found me in the audience of that Che Cafe show and dragged me in...it told me life could be shaped however you want.” (04:25)
The Punk Scene as a Window:
Punk music and the Locust House provided more than just entertainment—they were glimpses into alternative living, radical community, and self-invention.
“It opened up life like a giant window with all the sunlight in the world streaming in. And that all led to the final house show at 2411 East St...the Locust House, whatever you called it. The place was an epicenter for things free of bullshit.” (06:22)
Frances on Symbols and Cynicism:
After the Avocado Club closed, Frances observes new tenants hanging an American flag, seeing this as a jarring contrast—estrangement from former ideals and post-9/11 anti-American sentiment among punks.
"As soon as they were gone, the new tenants hung an American flag from the second story. It went suddenly from the cool house on the block where the best bands lived to the fucking White House...Some of us were sure our government had caused it [9/11]. Even if it wasn’t an inside job...we were at the very least responsible." (07:33)
Impermanence of Community:
Frances emphasizes that “everything can be taken from you”—home, friendships, health, youth, spirit—even community itself:
“People say that there are things that can’t be taken from you. Everything can be taken from you...Life is inherently unfairly violent.” (09:12)
The fleeting closeness after 9/11 and at the party is soon replaced by loneliness and loss.
“I thought that after 9/11, there should be some kind of greater togetherness in our culture. Just like I felt as though the energy of that party would carry on. In both cases I was wrong.” (10:40)
Capture the Flag Attempt:
Months later, Frances, James, Tyler, and Sadie plot to steal the American flag as an act of symbolic resistance. Their efforts, fueled by idealism and alcohol, are confronted by tragic reality when they arrive at the house:
“We trooped on down there, sticking to the alleyways...I let myself imagine that they felt it just as much as I did...We got to the house and there were cops everywhere...A fire truck, an ambulance squad...an older woman...full on CPR...And we stood there and watched them try to bring this poor fucking woman back to life...We turned around and walked home...No one said a thing.” (17:11–19:30)
Frances realizes the end of an era is final, and the group grows apart.
Tyler’s Pragmatism:
Tyler is the practical friend, less invested in the scene’s idealism. He views the parties as “great, fun, thrilling diversions” but not essential:
“Frankie and James, they were, they are, impulsive, naive, emotional...Everything they did, they did last minute and reckless...Frankie and James believed in things I enjoyed but didn’t necessarily have to have.” (20:15)
Tyler maintains that looking forward, not backward, leads to happiness.
“You don’t dwell on the past. You move forward...If you spend too much time looking back, you’ll never go anywhere.” (21:40)
On Long-term Friendship:
Despite their differences, Tyler expresses genuine care, even a willingness to die for his friends, while acknowledging their paths have diverged.
Host Margaret Summarizes:
The novella's shifting viewpoints reflect different experiences of nostalgia, disillusionment, and adulthood:
“I really like the balance of nostalgia and non-nostalgia. Right. Like a lot of the characters like ‘Ah, used to be kind of crazy, that’s kind of shitty’, right? And other people are like ‘Fuck, I thought we all meant it when we said we were trying to do this like revolutionary shit.’" (33:11)
Margaret, and Hazel behind the scenes, note how Locust House captures “what it’s like to be young, and what it’s like to have been young once...The way Adam writes about punks growing out of the scene is really relatable...We can’t burn bright forever. And what do you do with yourself once you’ve burnt out?” (32:08, 33:45)
On Punk & Adulthood:
“If adulthood looked like must see TV, I wanted out. No future, no fun, no hope, no beauty. I was wrong, of course.” (05:30 – James)
On Community’s Fragility:
"That’s one thing I’ve learned. People say that there are things that can’t be taken from you. Everything can be taken from you." (09:12 – Frances)
On American Individualism:
“Americans are bad at togetherness. We’re afraid of it. Or we label it as this dangerous subversive thing, this toxic kind of discord in the face of rugged American individualism, which is nothing but bullshit and self sabotage.” (12:10 – Frances)
Heist Night Realization:
“We got to the house and there were cops everywhere ... we stood there and watched them try to bring this poor fucking woman back to life ... It was like a death toll ringing the final toll. Not just for the woman...but for this thing I wanted so badly.” (18:07 – Frances)
Friendship’s Limits:
"I’d give my life for those two. And I say that without exaggeration. But I know what I am and I know what they are. And we’re different animals." (26:39 – Tyler)
Margaret wraps up by highlighting how Locust House evokes both the rush and the limits of youthful idealism, the ache of lost community, and the inevitable adaptation to adulthood. The book’s style—shifting between voices, compressing time and stretching moments—mirrors the way memory and longing operate as we reflect on formative experiences.
“I really think by showing different people’s perspective on that particular thing…it does a lot of good…the balance of nostalgia and non-nostalgia…That’s one of the main things about being young—thinking you’re going to enter a static thing…It feels eternal. And then people burn out or die or drift away…” (33:12)
Margaret teases the final episode, hints at returning characters, and closes with a hopeful call to collective imagination:
“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. And yeah, we can and we will imagine a better world together.” (34:53)
Next Episode: Finale of Locust House, with more from the character Agnes.
Recommended for:
Fans of It Could Happen Here, punk memoirs, anyone reflecting on lost communities and paths not taken, or those curious about the human side of countercultures.