The sun is setting behind the stage so it’s really hard to see the band. From where we’re standing they look like silhouettes; incredibly loud, fucking amazing, carefree summer silhouettes. There’s a slight lull in the crowd’s enthusiasm between songs and the girls give their boyfriend’s shoulders a break while people start to piss in beer cups (or just on the person in front of them) and I take the pause to light a cigarette. The chubby girl in the denim jumpsuit finally gets down and out of my way and the first bars of So Here We Are start as the sun dips behind the lip of the stage and I’m hit by a huge sadness as I realise that my memory will never be able to do this justice. The people near me start to clap – what are they doing, it’s not Maximo fucking Park – and I turn around, desperate to find someone else drowning in the sadness of this moment, this mad moment, and I see you in the crowd searching the sea for a life-raft as the waves wash the present into memories. Our eyes lock.
I don’t speak, I can’t move, we just look but inside I’m screaming and I’m so scared that you’ll look away first – your resolve cracks and your thick red lips curl upwards into the corners of your cheeks, you open your mouth to smile and I’m swallowed by the music and the sunset and your freckly fucking face. The chorus starts as the chubby denim gooseberry wants another ride, she kicks me in the head when her boyfriend strains to lift her and I recoil for a second (it really hurts), but a second is all it takes – when I look back the space between us has been flooded by alien bodies with empty, happy faces. I know right then that I’ll never forget those glorious seconds, that mad, mad moment; the sun beats down on my face and I feel so wonderfully alone.