Tired of hum-drum literary events involving lecterns, monotones, and rumpled suit jackets? Has Janey Smith got the antidote for you. One part poetry reading, one part beer bust, and one part urban exploration escapade, literary gatherings at the Squat turn the pedestrian concept of a reading into a situational ritual. After assembling in Smith’s lower Haight apartment for mingling and judicious imbibing, the crowd is ushered silently to a secret location: an abandoned flat lit by dozens of tea candles with a small pile of rubble on the floor serving as a podium for the invited poets. The echo of empty rooms, the brave flickers of candlelight, and the rapt attention of the crowd makes poetry at the Squat resonate that much more, attracting a stalwart crew of hardcore wordsmiths and armchair literati alike.
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