BY KIY & SEAN
It was an eight-dollar beer and a labyrinth of barcodes: one to order, one to pay, and another on the back of our name badges that contained the key to a limited edition Satoshi Doggomoto NFT. On the front, below the “GE (Good Evening)! They call me: ___”, was a space for us to write what we were there to learn about. Sean and I looked to each other for an answer, shrugged, and wrote, “NFTs”.
The crowd was surprisingly diverse. A mix of post-balding men and twenty-somethings cut from the grid of a fashion house’s Instagram stood around the bar. We’d been expecting a sweaty, fluorescent room, not a lattice of low-watt bulbs casting the attendees in a sort of World Fair glow. People were shaking hands and circling up. We ordered a second drink.
“Checkcheckcheck. Is this thing on? Hello Nashville!” came over the PA at the other end of the bar. A woman stood between the speakers, beaming. “Welcome to NFT Nashville’s first meet-up! I’m Elizabeth, the brand consultant for NFT Nashville. I urge you all to build community tonight and empower each other in this inclusive space,”—corporate-speak drowned in clinking glasses as we lost our attention.
Sean met elbows with the man to our right. He cleared his throat and turned towards us.
“What brings you here?” Sean asked.
“Career networking,” he said. But he never asked what we did and only wanted to show off his NFTs. “Check it out. This ape’s got an eyepatch, and this one’s got a dunce cap. They’re so dope.”
“What makes an NFT cool?” I asked. It was here his face crunched, and he turned to talk to someone who knew what a cool NFT was.
Elizabeth walked off the stage, and we made our way over to her. The event thickened with movement. Dub was playing. Elizabeth shuffled to the music as she shook our hands. “What can I help you guys with?” she called out, muted under all the noise. Though as soon as the word journalists left Sean’s mouth, she picked up her speech right where we had stopped listening. But the bass was thumping so loud I only caught the words she pontificated with a flick of her wrist: inclusivity, inequality, equity. I leaned in, but the drinks were really coming on. I leaned closer, and the earth moved forward with me. I bent back to counterbalance. People were dancing around us. Their movement was stiff and inhuman, torsos dipping like those perpetual drinking birds. I couldn’t hear Elizabeth. Or I was hearing only what she wanted me to hear. I gave up, and the daydream set in.
As Elizabeth steamrolled through neologisms, I swear her eyes spun to the back of her head. She straightened up rigid and her body began shaking uncontrollably social responsibility, liberation, innovation. Streaks of black fluid leaked from her nose ICO, DeFi, destabilization. A pair of uniformed men appeared on each side of her and hauled her off proof-of-stake, accountability, blockchain…
And then everyone clapped. “I’ve got this saying,” a professor from Duke University had taken the stage, “Compost the bullshit. We’ve all been isolated for the past two-and-a-half years. We’ve been at home. We’re siloed. We’ve got to learn how to build community with one another, and it’s relationships all the way down.” Heads nodded around us. Chatter dried up. “I have grown up in poverty and mortgaged my brain in student loans like a lot of us. It’s hard navigating the space where economic supremacy rules. Big corporate banks are always trying to suck you in through investing, but they’re making the dollar. Not the client.” Some people let out boos at the mention of banks. Life was back in the crowd, and they were growing restless. Shifting in place. Drumming on their thighs. “But in this space, we’re the change. Capitalism extracts and exploits. With NFTs, we finally have a chance to take back power from these corporations. NFTs are OUR revolution!” Everyone lost it. Big throaty yells erupted across the event. People threw their fists wildly in the air. They leaped up and down using their neighbor’s shoulders as a jump board. They foamed at the mouth and barred their teeth. “OUR revolution!” The crowd rushed toward the stage, caught up in the excitement. I was shoved away from Sean. Everywhere I turned my elbows met the body of a new stranger.
“Sean!” I screamed out as loud as I could. I saw his hand shoot up. His cowboy hat buoyed above the crowd before drowning under a sea of shoulders.
“Who’s challenging the American dollar?” the speaker yelled. I pushed towards the exit. Bodies cursed at me and shoved me back.
“Sean!”
“OUR revolution!”
I got stuck at the human wall blocking the door until a pair of hands parted their shoulders and pulled me onto the back patio. A man stood over me as I collapsed on all fours, breathless.
“You okay?” he asked, helping me back to my feet.
“Where’s Sean?” I asked.
“Who’s Sean? I’m Alex.” He extended his hand. I took it.
“What brings you out here?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I live a couple of hours away. I thought this might be a good way to get out of my comfort zone and meet some new people. Do you mind if I hang out with you for a little while?”
“Of course.”
I gestured to an empty table. The crowd inside was rabid, pounding against the windows and chanting in unison. But Alex didn’t seem to notice. His fists were balled on the table. He stared at them. Glints of light caught in the corner of his eyes.
“I really haven’t talked to anyone in a long time. A long, long time.” I reached across the table and placed my hand on his. He looked up, and a slow smile spread across his face as the crowd’s cry for blood washed over us.