I wasn’t sure why you were dressed like a bumblebee; none of the pulsing, kicking, increasingly agitated crowd you were engulfed in had costumes or face paint. You were like a buoy in turbulent waters, the black and yellow stripes that divided your appearance erupting from the audience at occasional intervals as we all jumped or swayed to the music. It was as if you were on a different plane, the smile fixed on your face while fights broke out around you. As those around me became more obnoxious and irksome and my hope of a good time seemed close to extinction I looked to you for inspiration, the bumblebee, who despite the odds was still enjoying himself. Even as a special kind of galoot pushed you to the ground you rose again on wings tattered and hanging by threads, a smile wide and gleaming, black paint staining your teeth.