Everything I have in my hand

Rushing past dozens of goateed, middle aged stocky men in Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts the other night,  I had the biting into the Madeleine moment, where I saw myself at around 11 years old running down the aisle at the Allen theater, following my sister as we ran to the stage to get a very close look at the young Bruce Springsteen touring for his second album. And then, a few weeks later at the same theater for Bob Marley and the Wailers.  I have not looked back since.
Eamon actually agreed to go and see the B52's at the Rib Cook off, one would think, an embarrassing step down for a group of this nature, but no how.  They rocked with abandon, as did I.
With two old boyfriends, a husband, and thousands of others looking on, or not, probably; I sang, danced, argued  with, and usurped the attempts by security to stymie my efforts to remain on my feet as opposed to sitting in bleachers, which I didn't do in school and I'm not going to do now that I'm like 33 days from fifty.
It's the authority that gets me, sure, but it's also the "serious", the we are here to mess with your fun directives.  I know they have to deal with drunks,and aggressive behavior in their job of maintaining order, but I also see it as a class system of which I cannot abide. I did also happen to have a few drinks which is not the norm, and that added to my strange swift of foot action which got us, us being the people who were behind me and saw the opportunity when it unfolded, to weave past the obstacles while wearing a long dress, with a phone and drink in my hand and end up close enough to take a few pictures to prove to whom? Me I guess, that I still have some life in me yet.