I love going to concerts. The energy you gain, the melting pot of style you see, the heavy bass that rattles your chest, and the inspiration you get from watching your musical heroes. Usually the concert experience occurs on weekends; because we all know that going out on weekdays and staying up late is irresponsible when you have to wake up at eight in the morning. But to me, that’s what makes concerts during the week so special, it’s like pulling a Snickers out of a pile of poop.
This past Tuesday night a Snickers presented itself in the weekly pile of poop. It was behind the airport, sitting next to the 5 freeway, resting on the outskirts of downtown San Diego in a bar named The Casbah. It was 8:30 when people began packing into the dimly-lit, 1980s style venue. The requirement for my ticket was 21 and older, and I felt like I was the only 21-year-old and everyone else was older. Now I’m not talking about 40s and 50s, I’m talking about late 20s to late 30s, the type of people that have nine to five jobs. But I didn’t really care, because I saw top hats, mo-hawks, piercings, chains, tight pants, loose pants, deep V-necks, tattoo-covered skin, long hair, short hair, and no hair. Then the band we’d been waiting for finally took the stage. We all hooted and hollered. The bass of the first song began to vibrate my whole body. I closed my eyes and smiled. The Snickers tasted so good.
