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Galaxie 500 lasted four years and recorded three albums—enough time for you to care about Damon Krukowski. But you didn’t. Instead, you had eyes for Dean Wareham—icy-cool, distant, sad-as-fuck singer of sad-as-fuck songs. Sometimes you’d watch bassist Naomi Yang’s earrings. But for drummer Krukowski? No love at all. Even later, when you brought your khaki-clad ass to the 9:30 Club to see Wareham’s new band, Luna, you didn’t care that he had nothing new to offer. You didn’t follow the doings of Krukowski or Yang. But while you were soaking up Wareham’s watered-down Alterna-Nation–give–the–kids–their–sardonic–pop–plus–Lee Hazlewood–cover routine, Krukowski became a poet and an editor. While you were praying that Wareham would just look at you, you could have been reading Krukowski. Now’s your chance to redeem yourself: Tonight, Krukowski will read from his first book, The Memory Theater Burned. Listen to him read about ghosts, the moment before dreams, a town with just one room, the song sung too many times, the Earth as a red paper ball at 7 p.m. Tuesday, Oct. 5, at the Warehouse Theater, 1021 7th St. NW. Free. (202) 638-7610. (Jason Cherkis)