Closing time has come and gone at Satyricon, it's almost 3 a.m. and the band members are loading out their equipment into pickups, station wagons, etc., all parked right outside the door even though it's on the bus mall. I am headed back into the club to get the last of my drum set. Stop to chit-chat for a second with some friendly rockers on the sidewalk in front of the entrance, they are deciding where the party is going to be. The door opens suddenly and a lovely young woman steps out. She looks like she's just a teen-ager, all sweet and youthful and unwrinkled, lithe and thin. Her long hair is wavy and the colour of sand. She looks into my eyes with a desperate look that speaks of being lost. Without saying a word, she puts her arms around my neck and collapses unconscious as I hold her. I have to hold on tight to keep her from slipping -- unconscious people are heavy, even thin ones. I slowly ease her to the pavement and try to prop up her head. She comes to in a few seconds, looks into my eyes again with that lost, helpless look. Two friends of hers finally show up, they're like "whoah" and don't know what to do. They help her to her feet and prepare to walk her to a nearby car. We aren't calling any kind of 911. Before getting in the car, she barfs on the sidewalk. I think she got a little too high. I go in for my hi-hat and one final check of the club before driving home with all my gear.