Despite arriving mid-day on Thursday when Lot 8 was still half-empty, somehow my crew ended up in the left lane of the dirt road routing traffic into the campgrounds. Everyone in the right lane got prime spots in Lot 8. We were sent to the far corner of Lot 4 where the tortures of the damned awaited me and my fellow campers. I could have learned to live with the 20 minute walk to the festival entrance that effectively ruined any reasonable opportunities for in and outs. The dry yellow crab-grass was a poor excuse for the polo turf in lot 8, but I could have learned to live with that too. Even the inexcusable number porta potties could have been tolerated, but the real cherry on top of this shit sundae was the thorns. Every square inch of dirt in that shit hole was blanketed in a layer of small thorn-like prickly burs. These things were like nature's caltrops. The exact source of the thorns was never determined though my girlfriend assures me they're common in the desert. I have some theories about their origin. I believe they came from hell.
This morning I woke up covered in dirt. I literally had to peel my eyes open and when I did I noticed that every item in my tent shared the same coating of dirt. Things came out of my nose that I won't even attempt to describe. Musically this was one of the best Coachellas I've ever been to but I think this was the last year I'll ever camp.