The Lawn By Franklin O’ Leary
He decided to go to Summer Jam thirty minutes after it started, but only because it was an oven like Denver Friday. As he parked he saw the Amphitheatre was packed. The crowd roared over the heavy bass, as they tried to sneak in through the back entrance but a security guard told them only performers could come in this way. They asked where the box office was. They saw a few friends, and exchange valuable information. The cheapest tickets were 35$, so they waited. A random person asked if they were looking for tickets. A bargain was made, the deal was done. He shook more hands and hugged acquaintances of the opposite sex as he made his way up to the entrance. Security padded him down. The vast amount of people in small groups made the crowd seem overwhelming as he made it to the lawn. They moved through the crowd with their eyes searching for an opportunity to get to the lower level, but they were distracted by the beautiful bodies of dancing females. The suns glare, the heat, the alcohol, the marijuana, and the bass seemed to create an organized riot amongst the people of various ethnicities, and ages. After a few failed attempts to get any young lady’s attention, the opportunity arose. As he patiently waited for his friend to return with a lower level ticket he reunited with familiar people, and spoke to every pretty face that walked by. Just when he was about to accept the fact he would have to stay in the lawn section, his friend handed him a ruffled paper rectangle. Success crossed his mind when he stuffed it in his pocket, as he shook hand. In hindsight he should have just bought a ticket. He walked down the wide pavement steps until he reached an older man with a bright yellow shirt on. He held out his hand. He reached in his pocket, and pulled a ticket out. The old man read it, and shook his head no.
“This say’s Lawn,” and then he pointed behind him to the grass section.