the beast of the crowd

You walk in and air the feels heavy, thick. The overwhelming sound of the concert is like fog – covering everything, everywhere, making it difficult to function. Your senses adapt: your ears cower from the assault, your eyes widen and take in the scene. Your mind melds into the crowd, becoming a different beast.

The people stand side-by-side in lines of strangers. Friends greet beneath the multi-colored lights; screams in ears become whispers, barely heard through the amplified beats of the kick-drum and strums of the bass.

The men stand with feet shoulder-width apart, gazing. It is unclear if this has happened as a concert-goer agreement, or by chance alone. Perhaps this is some natural rock concert evolution.

The women huddle together, or stand in the front, moving to the beat. Many hold cameras, and snap pictures as they dance, surely blurry.

The band on stage is another monster. They flow together like their music, moving with each note, smiling, screaming, sweating. Sips of water between songs and awkward jokes to the crowd as they tune their guitars briefly reminds the room of their humanity.

Men with beards and women with long earrings. Teenagers with backpacks. A water bottle pulled from a coat pocket. Lights and sound. Band members leaning casually against cement walls. Tattooed arms and greasy hair.

A concert. A show. A moment. A memory.

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