It wasn’t the most extreme thing two people could do, just one of the more flamboyant. The sights and sounds of such a volcanic congress were best kept private, but the public location we were in when the impassioned intoxication struck denied us that option. As we finished, the cops forced their way through the crowd. Before they zip-tied our wrists and took us away, they let us sign autographs for the assembled, who yelled for a lock of sweaty hair, a broken button, or at least a nod, confirming that the places we’d been were there for them too.