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I’m in the center of a huge mosh pit with about 500 people surrounding me. All around me is black clothing, even blacker eye liner, body piercings, tattoos, brightly colored hair, bracelets, and perspiration. I feel everyone’s heart beating to the music just like mine. The words of the song echoing 100 times, everyone has their own pitch. My smile won’t fade away because this is my euphoria; this is my comfort zone. I’m at The Trocadero or The Electric Factory in downtown Philadelphia, and I can’t think of another place I’d rather be. I’m at a rock concert, watching a band doing anything they can to make the crowd jump higher or