I'm at a Rammstein concert (*1). I find my place, and - wow, we have awesome seats! It's not like a regular venue; the seats are metal like bleachers, and the stage intermingles with them. I didn't think my seat was so good; maybe we're in the wrong area, but nobody is stopping us, and we're here now (*2). Less that 10 feet from me is a microphone and monitor where the guitar player will be standing. But I notice that his mic isn't all taped up, ready to burn. Oh no, I hope this isn't going to be one of those disappointing shows where they don't do all their signature tricks.

I think somebody comes to the mic and announces that the show is going to start, and some mechanical shields fold out, protecting us from the band or vice-versa. Then our bleacher seats move smoothly, like an elevator, and put us in some low position, deep in the crowd, where we can't see anything.

It seems we go around the back of the venue, and find some places to sit there. At this point it's me and Natasha, and we're sitting close together with our arms sort of around each other. I find a better spot, move there, and invite her over to sit with me again. She comments to somebody standing nearby that we have to sit that way, it's just how we sit. Then when she's back to sitting with me again, I suggest kissing (*3), and she says no. I ask again, trying to convince her, and she still says no, but I lean in to her mouth.

Her lips are all dry and cracked, and as our mouths approach, she wiggles her tongue very fast on my lips in a very unpleasant way.

(*1) Just had a conversation with Stacey about going to Rammstein concerts, a rare experience we have in common.

(*2) Mark's book, which I have been reading some, references getting in a much more awesome seat for a concert.

(*3) Natasha has been sick, so I joked with her about then-we-shouldn't-be-kissing, which we are not, and is generally out of place for our relationship.