Free Kicking the Can by Scott C. Glennie

tightly wrapped in a circle to collect electrical signals generated by six electrodes, which transformed theenergy to electrical voltage to be harnessed to power a single halogen light mounted on a headband Gupta wore. From a distance, it looked like a camper light. Gupta explained to the concert security guard the experiment was designed to convert sound into energy. It had never been tried before outside of strict lab conditions, and certainly not at a rock concert. The lady seemed disinterested, and with no indication it could be used to harm concertgoers, he and Nadir were waved through.
    He didn’t remember exactly how the yarn of deceit started, other than he was trying to impress a sexy sophomore who was majoring in electrical engineering. She had been introduced by one of the gang a couple of weeks back at a favorite South Indian restaurant. Gupta had stumbled on the MIT engineering student’s blog discussing how energy is contained in sound. It seemed like a harmless kernel he could use to fabricate his tale of testosterone. He went on to blather about how vibrations from a rock concert were an ideal venue for testing the technology, and he was looking forward to the Iron Maiden concert to test out his prototype that he had been working on in cooperation with some of the engineers at Cambridge. She bit, and five minutes later Gupta had her phone number and a firm date for the metal concert. There was no backing out. It had cost him 651,000 rupees to buy a scalped ticket at such a late date for entrance to the concert floor.
    She was standing behind him in skin-tight jeans and a black tank top, promising to video the experiment and post it on YouTube. He had no idea how the night would end, other than it would end badly. Gupta estimated hehad fifteen hours invested in his ruse. The electronic apparatus in his backpack was a hoax. To make matters worse, while they were waiting in line Chaitan brought up the idea of Gupta as a guest lecturer in her double-E class. She had apparently approached her professor, and he offered to introduce Gupta to an angel investor. The editor of the university newspaper promptly returned Chaitan’s request for a story and would call after the concert to schedule an interview. Gupta interjected several times—the technology had not been tested…that he wasn’t sure at all that it would work, and to not get her hopes up—but she replied that he was being modest and that only an idiot would bring such an apparatus to a concert and risk being turned away by security unless the experiment had a reasonable chance of working. Gupta was no idiot.
    When Chaitan and the girls slipped away for a bathroom break, Gupta pulled Nadir aside. The plan was simple: get close enough to the mosh pit that Nadir could feign being bumped. He would then drop the receptor onto the floor, and Gupta would assert that the blunt force impact damaged the electronics. He would be off the hook. They would wait until the second song to test the contraption.
    Gupta’s friends formed a concentric circle around him and Nadir—a protective barrier to insulate them from the rowdy concertgoers. The concert was about to start. Lights dimmed, and instantly thousands of smart-phones and lighters switched on, emitting a soft glow that defined the contours of the arena. Gupta could smell propane. On cue, the attendees began to sing the chorusto “Fear of the Dark”—oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh…oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh—their arms held high, swaying in time to the rhythm. Venting smoke, like a steam locomotive, shot into the air at forty-five-degree angles on the stage. A thick film of vapor wafted off the stage, working its way into the crowd, like a mist that hangs on a lake at dawn. The cool vapor, damp from the dry ice, sent chills through Gupta’s body and temporarily masked the smell of body odor. They were now part of a living, breathing animal—a dragon crouching, poised to pounce on its prey. The thunder of