I remember feeling the wind stroke my face like mighty fingers, throwing my hair, whisps of blonde waves dancing, whirling in its tempest. I let its drying power parch my eyes; I didn't want to close them, the scene was hypnotic. My hands clutched the sides of the purple truck, the only thing keeping me from flying away, being enveloped by the wind, and disappearing into the darkness. I imagined this happening anyway, my body being slowly taken by the tide. A wingless bird, I land on the moon. The driver reverses, shifts, pivots, and curves with the road. We are rolling forward like notes along a measure on a staff. The music is pouring out the windows, covering me like a blanket. It is The Who harmonizing to a suttle, but building guitar. "No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man, behind blue eyes... but my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be, I have hours only lonely, my love is vengance, that's never free." I swam in Roger Daltry's voice as he layed on the note: "freeeeeee..." Then the song, the sound, "got scooped up like a vacuum," but Keith Moon pulled it back out abruptly thundering on his drums as Pete Townshend heartily plucked his guitar and John Entwistle snarled the base. The music, the wind, the magic formed a mighty fist and punched my soul, causing me to black out, fall, see stars. His voice, the instruments captured my being: "When my fist clenches, crack it open, before I use it and lose my cool, when I smile tell me some bad news, before I laugh and act like a fool! If I swallow anything evil, put your finger down my throat! If I shiver, give me a blanket, keep me warm let me wear your coat..." In this moment, I was infinite.