After the concert, husband and I mosied – okay, not exactly a mosey more like a trot – to the bus line. As in “the bus” line.
I have waited by the bus before, but this time, the line was [I am not exagerating here] 500-600 people long. All waiting for a touch and a smile, a close-up look at Clay.
It was hot [90s] and humid [90s again]. Husband and I were standing under a street light when a woman came up to me and asked if she could stand there under the light with us so that Clay can see Flat Clay. I told her “Only if I can take a picture.” I did.
Flat Clay was carried by this couple all the way from Canada. He was almost life-sized, and the husband [hers, not mine] said they were stuck at Customs for 2 hours trying to get Flat Clay into the country. I thought my husband puts up with alot, this guy is a real keeper.
Jerome [the bodyguard] warned us against using flashes, and led all 500-600 of us across the parking lots and lined us up. It was getting late and these 4 women behind us were getting calls from their limo driver that the parking lot was closing at midnight and they told him to drive around they were not getting out of line now. And they told me that my husband is wonderful to wait with me. And husband said “What was that you just said?”
And then – the screams.
And then, he was here. He was moving fast. I put both hands out [like the last time] and there was no handshake this time it was more of a pat on the fingers thingy – but there was contact, brief as it was. And I went home happy. [Oh, and I forgot to wash my hands that night. And no – I do not care where those hands have been.]