Excerpt: When the Door Opens

So I’m at this concert, right? And I’m in the front row, well, I don’t know how much of a front row it was so much as I was smashed directly against the barricade in front of the stage, but for the sake of conversation, let’s just call it the front row. Anyway, I’m in the front row with my friend, waiting for the next band to start, fending off the assholes who think it’s a good idea to push between sets when everyone is supposed to be resting, and I’m trying to make small talk with the security guard in front of my friend and I. Now don’t go getting any ideas about me trying to sweet talk myself backstage to meet the band or anything. Been there, done that. They’re cool guys and all, but at the moment I was just antsy, waiting for the show to resume and conversation seemed like a good outlet for said antsiness.