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Don’t stop believing.
Maggie and I are way too close to the stage. My ears are ringing and I can feel the bass in my chest like someone tapping me for attention. It is full dark on a summer evening, and we are bathed in artificial light. We are packed in a crowd, bound on one side by the concrete wall supporting the el tracks, and on the other by a line of restaurants and bars with chairs and tables arranged at awkward angles on the sidewalk. It is North Side Pride, and we have been packed in dancing to Chicago’s favorite street festival band, the 80s tribute group 16 Candles. At the end of the night, the crowds this close to the stage have coalesced into one friendly mass. We have been bumping into each other and spilling various drinks on each other for the past hour or so as we danced. Now, the street is slick with beer, wine and various crushed bits of food truck fare. We are sweaty and almost tired. Shirts are slightly askew, dresses hang crookedly and some sandals will be forever ruined by this evening. The band starts with the opening notes of their closing song — Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” The crowd explodes into one joyous roar and all around me hundreds of people launch into the song along with Adam, the group’s lead singer.
There is a sense in the crowd that this is the moment we have all been waiting for. I have pushed the the sleeves of my shirt up as far as they will go. Maggie throws one arm around my…