Something happens after dinner. All the pearls of wisdom and anecdotal information that starts the pistons of this process firing are erased. I guess I give them all back to the day. These fish are obviously not big enough to keep. I am obligated to set them free. My antennae must be adjusted if this is not the case. I learned of these phantom antennae from an Angelino friend who once stood beside me in the wings of a late night festival concert. A famous and hard driving band had created a churning mosh pit down in front. Behind the medieval action were about 30,000 more crazed revelers. We were up above the lip of the crater as the steam rose up in rolling knots from below. The cool night had come and brought out the columnar tracer beams of the stage lights and started to condense the sweat of the banging hoard. The place was heaving and rolling like a mofo and he turned to me and said he felt like no one had given him his antennae. He wanted so badly to tune into what the band was doing but didn
