My own personal hell

Featured photo: a statue on the street

I love music. I love many kinds of music. I knew it wasn’t all music but I couldn’t pinpoint a type of music that would play in my own personal hell. 

Well, after today I can answer that question. But, gosh, what even is the genre? Is it just a specific band, was it the genre, was it the venue? I don’t know but I can tell you this much. I will never try to repeat this night again. 

I like symphony orchestras. I like ska bands. These both have horns, but this was different. This was painful. This was a jam band of horns and horrendous high pitched wailes of battle cries that could have defeated their enemies with a single speaker on the battle ground. 

This was full of people twirling and shaking, possibly having medical episodes due to the volumn of the racket being produced. I told my friends I had to escape. I believed my brain was about to explode and my ears were on the verge of bleeding. Perhaps the darkness had already subbcomed them, perhaps it was too late. 

I walked the 12 blocks to my favorite Mexican restaurant and here I will dine alone. Mourning my friends , being thankful I escaped with some hearing left and having to now exist with a glimpse of my afterlife in hell. 


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