These are great seats, I thought. “He promised me great seats.”

“Huh?”

“He promised me great seats,” I said, leaning toward my partner.

“Yeah, they’re great!”

Puffs of pot smoke clouded my vision and clogged my nose. A pillar obstructed half the stage. Even without that, I couldn’t see the face of the artist. What did I care? I knew precisely two of his songs. They were on the radio so much you couldn’t really avoid them, not if you had stepped into a Walmart or a Target or a coffee shop in the past five years.

The rest? Meh.

And so I was fine. E was enjoying her evening. I even started dancing.

Then the girls came back.

You know the type.

Pretty, shoulder-length glossy waves. Shirts made of tissues, holes cut at the shoulders. Because shoulders need ventilation, too. Not that I have anything against shoulder holes or glossy hair. I’ve been known to sport a cutout or two.

It wasn’t their clothes or their hair that bothered me, but their BLATANT DISREGARD FOR OTHER HUMANS AT THE CONCERT.

Oh, sorry. Was I yelling? I was just imitating those girls.

Their heads bobbed back and forth, threatening to smash into one another. Actually doing so once in a jerk that landed in an awkward unintended kiss.

“NO, BITCH, YOU CAN’T CALL HER BACK.”

No. Of course. Never call them back. Especially after whatever she just said to you on your text message. At this point I’m wondering… why bother paying for the show when you’ve got a show right in front of you? At this point I’m wondering what these ladies are on… and if I can have some. At this point I’m wondering how fast the burly security guards will be on me if I just whack one of them in the head.

Just a tiny.

Little.

Whack.

“Don’t even think about it,” E says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face is a canvas, baby.” She turns back to the superstar band, swaying, the music carrying her away.

The guy next to me is so smashed he can’t seem to stay inside his bubble. He keeps reaching over, touching my back like we’re chums who play bridge or something. We are no such thing. I’ve never met the man. He doesn’t realize he’s about to lose a finger or maybe something more precious than that.

I lean toward E. “Can we go? I’m totally not feeling this?”

Story to be continued…