At the Beach House concert, I stood in the crowd for an hour, trying
to seem invigorated and excited that one of our favorite bands was in
slc. But all I could really think of was how my ankles felt like
watermelons, that there was way too much body heat contributing to my
own and that there was smoke wafting steadily into my face. I was too
short to see anything, anyway.
Jake took note of my discomfort
and graciously steered my far away from the listening crowd and into the
outer rims of Pioneer Park. We were standing there, looking for a
somewhere, anywhere to sit. I no doubt had this I'm-about-to-die face
on, because a couple girls came over and said we could have their picnic
table.
I about cried with relief. At the moment, it seemed that no one had ever done anything nicer for me in my life.
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