There was barely any music to be heard away from the festival site; when there was, it was full-spectrum sound, not just bass only, and it was always dampened within five minutes. This is different from other years, so there was not much in the way of free music outside a very small radius. It also seemed as though there were fewer out-of-town attendees. In saying this, I’m going only by the few requests for directions and sightings of perplexed map-reviewers. There was little evidence of touring neighborhoods in rental cars, but there were more people out on scooters and bikes. Either there was less beer-drinking, more care taken about containers leaving the park, a more sober crowd, or one composed of anti-litter activists. There was no beverage trash in any nearby gutters on any of the following mornings, including this one. One significant effect beyond the pay-to-go-in area was that dust was carried quite far by any prevailing breezes, and there’s been much sneezing to be heard. And something that has never happened before is that the aroma of cooking food and the scent of smoke covered a widespread area on Friday and Saturday nights and, minus the smell of food, well on into the early morning. It reminded me of the old days, when there were active railroad sidings downtown and when one of Austin’s largest hobo camps was along the river, concentrated near where the physical plant of the local daily covers all that once was wild. Right along by Duplex Sign, at the southeast end of the Congress bridge, on a cold morning the rising auras of woodsmoke, coffee, bacon, and chile would greet the pedestrian heading downtown to work.