The young wives thirty hours' pregnant

Hip-hop is a big part of who I am. It's been with me since birth, and will pump hard in my varicosed veins till my demise. When I had a chance to go see Rock the Bells, I leapt at the chance. I originally wanted to go see this with a friend of mine from school, but once tickets sold out, we abandoned that dream. Months later, I find myself with a chance to go, but roll solo.
The show started off on a bad note. I was recovering from a day where I was embattled with a fever, only to be greeted by torrential downpour. Since anyone who loved hip-hop and had 100 bills to burn in a 700 mile radius was going to the show, I opted not to take buses, but instead walk to the concert, across the Tri-Borough Bridge. The ground was littered with old Source magazines, so it was evident that I was on the right path.
Once I got there, the rain got worse, the mud got deeper, my sneakers died, and I was so happy, I cant even begin to tell you how giddy I was. For eleven hours, it was just me, the music, and unfortunately, the mud, and nothing else mattered. It was a good day to be alone.