In search for adventure, I approached one of my friends from college and asked if I could tag along to one of his concerts. Being a good friend, he gave me this awesome chance to see him in action; granted I could have gone to his performances for free... but I just wanted to be part of the entourage.
However, being a recluse in the making, this was conceptually a terrible idea. By no means am I a misanthrope, but having 20+ people in a room, with a dash of insane colours flashing about, and a sprinkling of incredibly loud music; sounds like a terrible time.
It was a fantastic time. I was swept away by the vibes, the smells, the colours, the sounds. The air was an interesting concoction of alcohol, fried food, and cigarette smoke; however, for some reason unbeknownst to me I liked it. Not necessarily partaking, rather being in that middle ground, where I experience everything without being in the middle of it. The band was blasting away, the patrons were losing their minds dancing their hips off and I was taken by this cacophony of noises.
So whats moral of this story? There isn't one. Basically I had insane fun at the last place I would ever be.