A few weeks ago now, and that time has passed mostly because I couldn't be assed to fix this website until just now, I was anxiously hovering over the prospects of going back out to Rochester to see Twenty One Pilots. I say hovered because I wasn't sure I was even going to go. The show was on a Wednesday, Ashley couldn't go because it was a Wednesday and she needed to be at school/work/observation at 6 the following morning, I dislike driving, I dislike going so far alone to be at a concert alone. Now I'm whining. Andrew graciously volunteered to head out to Rochester with me at the last second to see these wonderful musicians and so I bought the tickets and we went!
After hours of driving we got there two hours earlier than the doors would open. With rumbling bellies and a disbelieving look at the insane lines of a teenaged fanatics we bolted for a DiBella's to pass time and soothe our hungers. The closest DiBella's was apparently one block over from where we first entered Rochester, which made both of us feel a bit foolish for not looking for food the moment we got into town.
In the line for the door we found some companions and chatted about the line, the band, and other niceties that you do when you're standing around with a few thousand other people.
The show was amazing.
I need not to say more than that. I am ashamed to think that I was going to pass it up for such silly reasons as I listed above. The energy of the crowd and the spectacle was more than worth all of that. I guess with my advancing age it's easy to forget how powerful those experiences can be.
The drive home was longer than the drive out. Andrew and I were wiped out. We spent the ride home exhausted and covered in dried sweat. We fell asleep like that. Showers would have to wait.