So, I went to the concert, saw Kent, got the t-shirt with the naked lady on it.
And it was good.
Very good.
But it turns out that everyone was wearing their best bra and with 12.000 boobs to choose from, Jocke Berg didn’t choose mine. It’s okay though, because the concert was amazing. The studio albums seem flat and boring after that burst of raw energy on stage. There’s nothing that gets me quite as revved up as live music. Melody and beat coming together to perfection right in front of me while thousands of people scream their appreciation and create a mass-psychosis like no other. LSD, someone?
Jocke, if you’re reading this, I’m great looking and awesome in bed. Please take me home.
M, if you’re reading this, I didn’t mean that.
Jocke, yes I did. Don’t tell M.
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