G said something to me, but his words were absorbed by the rising of shouts and cries of “Bravo” from the auditorium. I looked down onto the stage. A group of actors, armed with sledgehammers, were destroying a pile of electronic equipment. All of them were in clown masks. The public was screaming, and crying out, and stomping their feet on the floor in terrifying unison. Occasionally a phone or some other device would fly up from the auditorium and skip onto the stage, at which point an actor would set upon it viciously with a sledge hammer, sending microchips and bits of plastic skittering across the apron.
G was beaming. He made his hand into some sort of sign, and wagged his hair in a mock, slow-motion head bang.
I watched as members of the public, eager to get their technology to the stage, began climbing over eachother, scrambling for handholds on seatbacks, even on the shoulders of fellow patrons. One man, when he’d made it to the fifth row, stood up, his legs apart, his feet split between two arm rests, and pitched a phone onto the apron. One of the actors brought his hammer down on it with special force, shattering the phone and driving the last bits of it into a dent in the stage.
A man in the front row turned to look at the man who had thrown the phone, and as he turned, I was surprised to see he was wearing a mask identical to the ones worn by the actors. I saw others, also seated in the front row, also in masks.
G continued banging his head in a raging, slow-motion fashion.
His energy was contagious; I smiled.
The sound was unbelievable. I rested my head back against the wall of the cubby, and watched, and listened to the roar.