He wore a green turtleneck as though he were the first one to think of it. The lights adorning the back of the makeshift stage glowed as he gyrated and smacked the mic into the floor, casually (making my friend worry about the sound guy’s reaction), as though that one time he watched the Breakfast Club didn’t blow his mind and affect every decision he made going forward. It was horrifying to watch, even as I tried to suppress a grin. He flipped his hair and snarled like John Bender, he grooved and fell to the ground, no care in the world, like the Basket Case. Above all else, he paraded about in that god awful green turtleneck. This was a man who traipsed about stage like a rock star in his prime, instead of a poor imitation of an 80’s fever dream. I stood there, noticing how my foot wasn’t tapping (and didn’t want to), wondering if I’d find him even more entertaining if I was drinking something stronger than water.