Heeding the instructions Brendan Kiley reported earlier this week—

On the night of the eviction, the Belmont will become The Belmont, with murals on every wall (outside and inside), installations in every apartment, and a performance by Implied Violence on the roof. Nobody will be able to get into The Belmont without tickets, which can be procured on the day of the event at a downtown crepe stand. (See Theater Calendar for details.)… The Belmont is trying to avoid some of the overcrowding that happened at Motel #1.…The artists only gave hints about what, exactly, they’ll be doing. Implied Violence’s rooftop performance involves local Balkan brass band Orkestar Zirkonium and samples from Triumph of the Will and The Chronic…

—I got up at 7:30 this morning, showered, had some tea, and marched down to La Creperie Voila to get tickets. According to the instructions, tickets are on sale today between 8 am and 8 pm, but I was made to understand from those in the know that there were a very limited number of them, so I figured, well, I don’t wanna fuck this up. Usually when you work at The Stranger, you get tickets to things without having to go out of your way, but the good people of Implied Violence could give a fuck if you work at The Stranger. I salute them for this.

I was at the crepe place by 8:38 am. There were a couple people in line with me. “I’d like a crepe with prosciutto and spinach and tickets to the Implied Violence thing,” I said when I got to the counter. The guy behind the counter said my options were “show” tickets, for the rooftop show that starts at 1:30 am, which cost $5-$15 (my choice how much to pay); or “house” tickets, which are free. I got show tickets (paid $10) and house tickets.

I asked him if a lot of people had shown up to buy tickets.

“It’s been pretty crazy,” he said. He showed me how many tickets he had left for the rooftop show—under a dozen. Handing me mine, he smiled and said, “Have a good night. I think it’s gonna be a late show.”

I sat there and ate my crepe and intended to read the newspaper I’d brought with me but it was so cold I could barely move, so the newspaper went unopened. While I sat there, Pol Rosenthal—who’s been living in and managing the Belmont and was in the Infernal Noise Brigade—showed up to get a ticket. “Even I have to get a ticket,” he said. He would never have gotten up this early if not for wanting a ticket. He waited in line and by the time he got to the counter, they were out of tickets. “That’s the last time I get out of bed,” he said.

As Pol was walking away, dejected, the guy behind the crepe counter ran after him. He’d found one last show ticket. “I got a golden ticket!” Pol said. He might not have said golden—my imagination might have filled that in.

I just now got an email blast from someone in Implied Violence that said:

It is 9:12 a.m. [and] people have been working all night. I am taking a break…to remind everyone to GET A FUCKING TICKET FOR THIS EVENT. Don’t whine don’t moan just go get a crepe and PICK UP A TICKET.

How will they keep us warm up there on the roof in the middle of the night? Will there be a rooftop campfire, a la the campfire in the motel room with the hole cut out of the ceiling at Motel #1? God I hope so.