The tents are still up, last I saw. The police drove a cruiser into the plaza, turned on the flashers, then abandoned it. A few folks grabbed a boom box, put on some mid-90s hiphop, and danced around the car as if the cruiser flashers were disco lights. "Who's got the Dead Pres-idents?" somebody in the crowd shouted. "They were serious revolutionaries!"

Nobody seemed to have any Dead Prez in their backpacks. They danced anyway.

Just behind them, the lead actor of the recently feted MilkMilk Lemonade was hunkering down for the night, finding a friend's tent with a bedtime partner that he hadn't met yet, "but heard was really nice."

Also, I performed an impromptu marriage ceremony. (Thanks for the ordination, internet!) But it won't be official until they mail the paperwork from the state for me to sign. Here's the happy couple, plus a saxophonist who showed up just in time for the ceremony.

Then there was this guy, who used to be in the Infernal Noise Brigade. "Why aren't there more of our people down here?" he asked. I didn't know the answer. He said some of them were on tour in Europe. He said some of the others were just getting drunk on Capitol Hill. He discussed the possibility of a march next week that quietly walks through bars carrying small, unobtrusive signs that read: "Why aren't you at Westlake?"

Then there was this:

And a herky-jerky photo of the happy couple running off while the saxophonist serenades them and the groom shouts: "Who's got an empty tent???"

While they were running off, the young lady who directed me to the couple—she said she was looking for an ordained minister—took a drag off her cigarette and said: "I'm not sure if they were really in love when you first got here. But now I think they are! I think they just fell in love!" She seemed excited about this.