I am way too good of a friend. Despite being a total bebop jazz head, I agreed to go to the Sonic Breeze EDM Festival for my friend Molly’s birthday. Lo and behold, she went missing mere minutes after arriving. Upon entering the security check, I squeezed out a quick shit in a porta-potty and she was gone by the time I came out.
To make matters worse, not a single person was even remotely helpful during my search. I went up to some woman covered head to toe in lime green fishnets and asked “Have you seen Molly?” She just grinned and tried to make out with me. The audacity!
Next, I asked a gentleman whose shirt had a rather psychedelic pattern if he had seen my friend Molly, and he started laughing and dry-humping the nearest tree. Is anyone here at all concerned that we have a missing persons case on our hands?
One of the attendees had the audacity to call me a “narc.” What is that about? I’m a bad guy just because I’m trying to solve a missing persons case? I’m all for de-funding the police, but not because they find missing people!
The music certainly isn’t helping. I’ve been trying to find the information tent but all the music sounds like trash compactors and fart noises on every beat. No one could hear me or read my lips. My dental filling from last Thursday came loose from all the bass. I placed it in my fanny pack. I do not believe that this noise fits the dictionary definition of “music.”
But then something interesting happened. The fifth or sixth person I asked for help handed me a pill that looked a lot like my papaya seed capsules, so I took it. While I don’t think it helped my gut flora health, I did start to enjoy the music a bit more. I allowed myself to be free and dance, and if I recall correctly, I made oral love behind a falafel tent.
I felt a sense of joy I hadn’t experienced since I was a child playing capture the flag with my friends. I thought the smile would permanently burn into my face.
This haze lasted a few hours, and after a few oral love-making and receiving sessions, I started to regain my senses. The world became grayer once again, and Molly was still nowhere to be found.
Until I checked my text messages. Apparently, she said she’d “meet me at Stage B” nine hours ago. I really need to check my texts more.