This time was different. I didn’t give a damn about how I looked. I hadn’t shaved in three days, my jeans were ripped and stained, and the T-shirt I wore was faded and thin from too many washings. My hair needed a cut and stuck up in all directions.
So what if I looked like I could be the lead singer’s brother? So what if my careless, even reckless, attire actually had the opposite effect, making me look desirable in a Seattle grunge sort of way?
Tonight was not about paying heed to common sense; tonight was about just not caring. Or so I tried to tell myself…
I had an orchestra seat, but I was far back from the stage. Even in my own overactive imagination, I knew we would not lock gazes tonight. I was surrounded by hundreds of others, of both genders, who wanted, like me, to be the obj
