On July 9, 2012, I was in the pit, golden circle, at Letzigrund in Zurich.
Bruce and the E Street Band. A monstrous concert. Almost three and a half hours.
Standing still for that long slowly destroys you: the soles of your feet are burning, your back is wrecked, your whole body is completely stiff. At some point, you almost start dreaming for the concert to end.
And then the young 62-year-old guy in front of you ends the show with Twist and Shout, running and jumping around the stage like he had just finished warming up.
Disgusting.
After the concert, we were four friends. We invaded a pizzeria next to the stadium. Just the four of us and the Italian owner.
“Ragazzi, I’m only making pizzas, I’m alone, I’m about to close.”
We ended up under the table at 1 a.m. with the owner.