Spamberguesa

Even with her quasi-foresight, Sharley hadn't had nearly enough idea what she was getting herself into. Three days of peace and music, the flyer said. Fair enough. The couple she'd been traveling with the last year had wanted to go to this concert at Woodstock, and she hadn't seen any timelines where something went disastrously wrong, so she saw no reason not to. However, if she'd seen any potentiality in which the crowd was this huge, she would have damn well stayed in San Francisco. The trip cross-country in their pair of wheezing VW buses had been something of a nightmare all on its own, but she couldn't say she'd minded too much; Sharley only felt anything close to at peace when she was traveling, and she'd kept both buses in decent enough repair that Andy and Turquoise's only broke down once. They camped under the stars at night, little Marty safe in her arms — her daughter wasn't yet four years old, and she guarded the girl like a mother bear. Her father had been shipped off