A valueless collection of hopes and past desires

We called him DJ Narcolepsy.

I met him through a friend in college. He was an amateur DJ, and his two favorite movies were Twister and Blade. I joined him at a Fantomas show in Cambridge. It would be our only encounter.

There we were: standing not too far from the stage and sweating with the crowd. He said he was feeling really hot and asked if we could go get some fresh air. I agreed. And so he turned around to start weaving through the sea of bodies. But it was weird. I noticed that he wasn’t advancing forward. He seemed to be hovering there in front of me. With a playful nudge, I pressed into his back as if to say “C’mon, move it! Move it!”

He had already blacked out at that point, and the force of my push sent him head-first into the load bearing pole next to us. He slid down the pole, his hat flipping up, as the crowd around me stared in shock. What the hell was going on? I spun around, mouth agape, and looked at his nearby friend. Desperate for help yet not saying a word, I tried to lift up the dead weight in front of me.

We carried him over to the bar. After regaining consciousness, he said that he was just really nervous that night, and the fainting was a side effect of being repeatedly concussed as a hockey player.