I woke up this morning to my phone ringing, and the answering machine starting. I heard my dad's voice. I stumbled out of bed and over to pick up the phone. He called me to not only tell me about the news, but to make absolutely sure I wasn't at the show last night.

My favorite rock club, The Station, is no more. Their web site is no more either, at least last time I checked. For all I know, their server was in the club.

But it wasn't until work that I thought more about it, and then it suddenly hit me. I know people who might have gone to that show! Those two local RI bands I knew, and everybody like myself who hung out with these bands. I knew so many people who were regulars there.

I keep a list of phone numbers in my wallet, and this time that friend-of-a-friend's number actually came in handy. He assured me that neither Paul nor his girlfriend were at that show last night, but John was. In fact, his knowledge as an ex-marine came in handy, as he helped pull some of the bodies out.

I called Lori and left a voice mail. I called Big Jim and left a voice mail. I tried to contact all those southern New England hard rock fans I knew. The ones I ended up bumping into at all these shows I'd drive 2 hours to see.

So far, so good.