Loftus Hall

There was a Jägermeister tour thing happening in Berlin, which mostly meant a crowded bar and free drinks. Loftus Hall was so packed that nobody could sit down—we were eating standing up, which isn’t really eating so much as grabbing food while people pushed past you, but the food was good so it mattered more than you’d expect.

The bands came on at some point: Tek-One, Dumme Jungs, Eskimo Callboy, not necessarily in that order. By then I’d already had enough Jägermeister that the set list wasn’t making much impression on me. I drink it like water, which is the kind of thing people always doubt until they see you do it, and that night I was doing it. The place was loud and jumping and everyone was having the particular kind of fun you only have when someone else is paying.

I remember standing at a foosball table at some point, laughing at nothing in particular. There was a woman from the agency who kept appearing at exactly the right moment to pull me out of whatever I was getting into, which sounds dramatic but I’m pretty sure I needed it. More than once.

The night had that quality where everything feels perfect while it’s happening—the crowd, the noise, the steady stream of free drinks—and then you wake up the next day trying to piece together what actually happened. All that’s left is the feeling of it and maybe two clear images, plus the distinct knowledge that you had a good time even though the details are gone.