I’m writing this from front of house during the second song of Train’s encore, a cover of Queen’s “Under Pressure.”

There’s no amount of Mike’s Hard Lemonade that can ameliorate the stifling North Carolina humidity, but by god people are trying, and I’ve had to discourage several 40-somethings, emboldened by sickly-sweet booze and nostalgia, from jumping the barricade and clapping on one and three next to Jamo (Train’s FOH), Joel (their LD), and Chris (their day-to-day manager).

I’m unintimidating with my side parting and hipster glasses, but fully prepared to pull a hamstring in the name of solidarity. Come at me, Proctologists.