Dave's story made life easier to handle, and for a moment I almost thought he was a messenger from God, so sagelike and angelic momentarily was he, a vehicle chosen by the Almighty to repair my optimism. He told me this thing about love and human connectedness, the universe and the importance of compassion. It was profoundly important in that way that makes everything clear. But there's a point when profound information becomes too dense for me; I can feel my brain involuntarily hardening. He saw that I was confused, overwhelmed. "Hey man, it isn't me telling you this," he concluded, patting me reassuringly on the back.
It was the second time that week somebody had told me, "It isn't me telling you this." I was completely spooked.
The band rolled into a beautiful rendition of "Let's Get It On." Dave and I both sort of mentally retreated, turned our attention to Soul Reunion, the Thursday-night band. But as I sat there happily listening, Dave's words continued to reel in my head.
By now there was a gyrating crowd on the dance floor. A girl wearing a cowboy hat twirled and twisted with abandon. But in the end it didn't go so well: She tripped over a speaker and fell to the floor like a beached fish.
Now I don't remember the best things Dave said. Only the light he shone on me.