Spencer was hurt. Hurt bad. He was starting to get heavy, but we couldn't tell him that.The trees shook violently with the approaching storm and flies buzzed at our faces like beggars around a spit roast.
We needed a reason to go on.
Then we hit upon a clearing, like a beam of light from the parted clouds. Music, laughter, solace. Spencer urged us to let him see. I think he knew he was done.
The music was loud and jovial, the small crowd bounced with glee, like children on their parent's bed, and the smell of hot dogs and burgers filled the air.
We danced and laughed until we saw the sunrise, then as quickly as it appeared, the air was still and quiet and the storm had passed unnoticed. I looked down at Spencer's face and closed his eyes. He enjoyed that for sure. Probably more so if he hadn't lost his ears the previous afternoon.
That's why I don't go to concerts.
