The tinny lights hit your eyes and it takes a moment to adjust to the screaming of your retinas, but then you are able to focus on the singer because he has moved directly in front of a revolving green light, and all of a sudden he is illuminated from behind by the shadow of a halo, a dark ring of light that outlines your vision, quickly followed by three quick flashes of a sensation you think must resemble blindness; apotheosized by this rich glow, the singer begins to strum lightly on his guitar, and you suddenly find yourself streaming along behind the words that mean so much to you when you sleep at night, mouthing the words because even if you were able to let out the loudest hoarse yell at that moment, you wouldn't be able to discern it from the collective surge of sound emitting from the gaping-O mouths of everyone else here; as the singer hits the chorus, there comes a welcome spray of water, cool and heavy, much like the night air, you expect, and nothing like the sweat running through your hair or the heat of someone else's elbow pressed against your neck or the smell of excitement that pervades every pore to fill your lungs with so much glory you wonder if it will be possible to start breathing again after this is all over.