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    • CommentTimeDec 24th 2007
    White smoke plumed from the standing crowd, a mixture of cigarettes and cold breath. Idle chat murmured throughout the crowd, some wearing black hooded sweatshirts with popular band names strewn across the face, others wearing simple band tee’s, shivering in the cold as they leaned against the red brick wall.

    A metal push-door opened, where a burly man sporting a large beard stood holding open the door. Ushered inside, the warm stale air hit with the ferocity felt like a fireman entering an inferno.

    Taking up a place on the floor, directly in front of right-center stage, we all grouped together and talked anxiously waiting for the band to take the stage. Eyeing an old friend near the center-stage barricade, I whistled to grab his attention; turning and smiling, he weaved his way in between the huddled mass of hunched bodies to reach me. Grasping me in a giant hug, we talked small talk. We talked life, we talked love, and then we talked music.

    The screech of a guitar being picked up was followed by the rhythmic tapping of a drum snare and the deep resounding of double bass pedals. “This goes out to all of you who waited for an hour outside in the cold.”

    As the song started, so did the crowd, surging forward to the barricades. Smiles were scattered throughout the crowd, and eyes glittered as the band ripped into their instruments like crazed animals.

    I spotted him from across the floor as I prepared to dive into the pit and shadow-box. Standing, hood up, lip rings glittering, he looked almost scary. When our eyes met, he moved towards me. My muscled tensed as I pushed my way forward into the writhing and screaming crowd. We met in the middle of the floor, turned to the stage and continued bashing into the other concert-goers.

    In that one second, eyes met in the fury of the moshpit, we were as one. It did not matter he took my girlfriend, it did not matter he used to be my friend, it did not matter that we had gotten into a fight in the 8th grade. In that one second, that one insignificant little second, we were brothers.

    Fists raised to the air, pumping at imaginary ideas and standards, we yelled as one at the singer as he sang out to us.

    Glory be to that one band, that one rhythm, and that one sound that can bring enemies together as brothers under the banner of music, wherever or whatever it may be.
    Thankful People: Glorious Swain
    Unexpected and interesting. Is it about overcoming differences, realizing they aren't quite so significant as you were persuaded, or perhaps, simply about the moments of peace and comaraderie that for a time displace and outweigh lifes challenges.