The bass started at precisely 7 o’clock. The DJ music was good and offered a mix for the older crowd and the younger crowd; neither crowd would arrive for hours after the event started. Some of the worst bands went on early in the evening: most of the guests missed them. By the time the better sounding bands came on, the bulk of the crowd had arrived—most of them too drunk to appreciate their timing.
Bass vibrated off of closed windows and echoed throughout the quad bouncing off of bricks, buildings and closed doors before wafting up to the fifth floor. With the windows closed it was loud and not yet obnoxious.
I was appreciating the event from the comfort of my flat above; my windows stayed closed for most of the night and until early morning.
At 3 o'clock, not 2:59 or 3:01, the music--mid-song it seemed--stopped. The crowd that had moments before been chanting, singing, and yelling almost in unision, murmured in a whirl of confused, incoherent babbling. Within seconds they organized a chant: "one more song; one more song; one more song."
Even from above I could hear the answer which came in clicks of cases, shuffles of wires, and flicks of switches: No.
Convinced, the crowd dispersed echoing a rendition of John Denver's Country Roads Take Me Home.
By 3:15,save the lone random unanswered call, the morning was silent; until 3:20 when the birds began to sing.