I met a girl named Biscuit the other night at the show. She breathed on my friend’s neck and kissed him while he snapped a self-portrait with his cellphone camera. That’s when her old man showed up, and we didn’t see Biscuit again. All that remained was the smell of her shampoo, and the picture on my buddy’s cellphone. It made his weekend, and he really needed his weekend to be made.