The Pink House was like an underground United Nations. Chapel Hill's aspiring artists, musicians, poets, DJ's, activists, actors, writers, nudists, flutists, knuckleheads, and couch-surfers, all living together in (relative) harmony, united by their common bohemianism. Life inside the Pink House often consisted of weird shit happening at all hours, every day, it rarely stopped. And there's something about that place that won't allow the vibe to ever fully dissipate. / PinkHouseForever.org
Thursday, April 27, 1995
Sunday, April 9, 1995
N'Gai, the generous host
Spent way too much of my sunny, 80 degree afternoon with a pack of Dungeon-dwelling knuckleheads who go by the names of N'Gai, Lem, Dawad, and Charles. And look at N'Gai, newly paid, all ready to be the generous host, shelling out for two large pizzas with delicious toppings like barbecued chicken, broccoli and pepperoni. Accepting donations on credit from all the rest of us dollar-less fiends. Like I said, way too much of the day. But then again, it was Sunday, and it's always important to kick back with the fellas once in awhile.
- Letter to Dana, 4/10/95
- Letter to Dana, 4/10/95