The surge... The spark in the atmosphere. I get down from the stands because I am convinced that the pain of standing on my feet cannot possibly be any worse than the pain of watching from a distance. I'm in the pitch, I'm in the side of the stage, I'm close to the front, when the music starts. It almost feels like I'm not there, like I don't feel it, like it's a memory even while it's happening. I bring myself back to consciousness. I will live this. I will feel this, to my bone. I will know this, I will understand this, I will realize this. I'm alone there, but I'm surrounded. I will be awed by a love that's likened to a swamp. I will be inspired by places I've never seen. When the crazed singer climbs the barricades to join the frenzied, fanatical crowd, I will push my way forward, without thinking, without caring, for a touch of the sleeve of the jacket. I'll scream the words and laugh loudly when I sing the chorus at the wrong time, and I will have touched the sleeve of the jacket and all those who touched it too.
