We crowd-surfed with R.T. We bar hopped on light rail. And between some of our precious last sucks on a cigarette at the club, we scribbled it all down on a cocktail napkin.
You thought Bigfoot sightings went out with Pop Rocks and moon boots. Try telling that to Mike Quast, who is convinced the creatures are alive and well and living in Minnesota.
The never-ending showdown between a relentless poetic provocateur and the back-patting literary establishment that shudders at the very sound of his name
