You know, there’s this thing that happens. You’re in Acapulco, in a dance club, and enjoying that most fucking phenomenal of phenomena: the open bar. You don’t dance, but you linger around because a mass of sweaty half-clothed bodies has that effect. It’s dark as a closet and neon’s going off in every direction. You don’t hear, you don’t even try. You roll with it. You don’t say excuse me but simply maneuver into and through the throng with hands everywhere imaginable. And of all the sound you think you’ve forgotten by midday of the following sun-up, some of it embeds itself. You don’t recall it, and don’t even realize it’s there until you’re scrolling through videos on YouTube searching for something to fill the space. It’s never what you expect it to be.