“The band is so teeny, tiny and far away,” Riley said. “We should have sprung for better seats. What’s the point?”
“But you can see it all clearly on the screens,” Marla reasoned.
“Does a sixty-inch tv mean anything to you?”
“But then you wouldn’t experience this.” This being the wafting smell of weed. The girl singing like a screech owl, the heat of sweaty bodies and the impossibility of ever getting to a restroom.
Then, fireworks spewed into the heavens, the music pumped alive. The sound stretched out and grabbed their eardrums with a shake.
“Whoa, that’s something.”
This week’s Photo challenge from Rochelle Wisoff’s Friday Fictioneer’s is brought to you by Ted Strutz. Thanks Ted!
Clare Graith 