The time is 22.00. My feet hurt and my arms are weak after fist pumping. I’m stuck in a bottleneck of people trying to leave Outside Lands, San Francisco’s annual music festival in Golden Gate Park, through a small tunnel at the south end of the park.
And then I hear a familiar tune emanating from the depths of darkness: “You, you have what I need. But you say he’s just a friend. You say he’s just a friend. Oh, honey, you….”