WE STOP ON A HILLSIDE and take in the weird circuit of ten thousand glistening auto roofs cutting a swath through the country. In a low, distant haze, the concert is a buzzing smudge.
I bite my lip and liked the bite. Then I feel myself squeeze Carol's shoulder, and she leans in. There's something uncomfortable under my feet, a tinny taste beneath my tongue.
There is nobody around and the crowd makes a dull hum in the distance. "Let's go in."