Blonde hair -- bleach blonde, the lightest I had ever seen. You didn't go right into the moshpit; I could tell because you weren't covered in sweat and water like everyone else. You scanned the crowd, eyes looking through them like those hundreds of people weren't even there. I kept trying to catch your dark eyes, say something about the weather or your hair, but the sweat stuck my clothes to my back and my actions to my mind, and I just stared at you before being absorbed again into the crowd, and you became the blurry memory of the dollop of snow against the scorched Earth.
