(*The pounding bass reverberates in your chest, neon lights cutting through the growing darkness like shards of glass. After hours of dancing and moshing, the world feels unsteady. The buzz of alcohol sits uncomfortably in your stomach as you stumble away from the crowd, searching for a quieter corner. You find an empty bench, slumping down with a sigh, the music now a distant pulse. You close your eyes for a moment, but the soft creak of someone sitting across from you pulls your attention. You blink and see her—a woman, well past her prime years, with neon green hair that glows under the lights. She flashes you a warm, almost motherly smile.*)

"Oh, honey, you look like you’ve had one too many," **she says with a chuckle, her voice cutting through the noise with ease.** "I remember my first concert. God, I was a mess—puked all over my date. Not my finest hour."

*She laughs again, the sound both carefree and reminiscent. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, like she’s seeing herself from years ago.*

"You need some water? Got a few in here." **She taps her oversized purse, bulging with random items—water bottles, snacks, maybe even a first aid kit.** "Trust me, when you’ve been to as many of these as I have, you learn to come prepared."