when i was growing up all i required as a fan was that the artist make good music.
it started and stopped there.
i’d wait years for a new album.
stand in line to buy the CD on release day.
obsess over it front to back, read the lyrics, stare at the art work, try to analyze it.
i got pointed at by a band in the pit once because the singer liked my mohawk and my life was made.
we gotta go back to just enjoying the ride.
dude said to her “so let me get this straight, your gay?”
i interjected, “sir that sentence collapsed on itself”
he pulled a vape the shape of a hard drive out of his pocket.
i disappeared into the night.