With the exception of an old man sitting less than one seat away – he mischievously sat next to us – and his active geyser of sulfur spewing anus, the concert was simply grand.
All throughout and up until intermission, the symphony of gasses crashed and burst in the third tier seating enough to awaken profound sleepers and anyone with a stuffed nose. This man was unfazed by our befuddled looks and throat clearing and the occasional blatant wave of the hand across our collective noses. Determined he was.
Returning to our seats at the end of intermission the world was not safe from the monster among us. As a small display of disgust with the gentleman with the unruly intestine, we publicly moved to other seating several rows behind on the right. Poor seats, sure – but well away from the bastion of ass vomit and its king.