It’s his first gig, you can tell,
Or his first one here, at least.
He hovers by the taps, coat flopped over his arm, drinks order undecided,
Eyes glued to the collage of posters and stickers and ticket stubs that paper the walls.
He points one of them out to his friend, gesticulating excitedly –
One day, somebody will feel the same awe when they notice a poster for the band he’s seeing today.

She enters early and beelines for the merch stand,
Fighting her grin as she pays for a T-shirt in a size far larger than she needs
And pulls it on over her striped long-sleeve.
She looks at home as she sips her soft drink by the stage, the room not yet a swaying haze of colour and sound.
She glances around as people trickle in, some alone like she is, others forming hushed huddles,
All of them washed in soft, shadowy colour, and soon, all singing the same lines.

They don’t know a single word,
And probably wouldn’t even notice if the lead singer walked right by them in the bathrooms,
But they’re moving anyway, head tipped back just slightly, as if to make sure their ears don’t waste a drop of music.
They were leaning on the wall, but now they’ve edged forward into the shifting crowd, maybe without even realising,
The way you move when you’re paddling, knee-deep in rippling water, pleasant disorientation,
And only realise when you try to walk back up the beach in a straight line to where your towel and shoes should be.
They’ve missed this, feeling the bass in their chest and the tension easing from their shoulders,
Enjoying the journey from soundcheck to encore.
They make a mental note to look up the opening band on the way home.

By Laura Ellison