We Came. We Raved. We Loved.

Let it be known that last Friday, Brian and I went to a rave.

And we liked it.

I remember this one incredible moment when Swedish House Mafia was playing Don't You Worry Child and we were spinning and jumping and laughing and swinging each other around and a space cleared for us to dance and I was so happy.  It's one of those scenes, a snapshot of life, that stands still -- the kind you know you'll remember again, and when you do, it'll make your heart smile.

When it was all over, we trekked back through the endless mud and walked approximately another 8 billion miles to Union Station to take the train home.  Which I was ok with only because 1) I was in a state of post-concert euphoria; 2) I drank my last drink really really fast; and 3) Union Station is pretty.

My feet/legs were sooo gross and muddy.  I have never been so thankful for ugly cheap-o tennis shoes.

 And that is the story of The Time We Went To A Rave.

I'm bookmarking this one for [totally speculative] future child's reference to prove WE WERE COOL ONCE I SWEAR.