Only once can I remember when Dylan’s djing was a bit less than perfect. His mixing had moments that startled and jarred, he was way off his game, but allowances must be made since it was his first time ever djing high off his face on some mystery drug. His eyes were wide and wild and his entire head was drenched with sweat. At one point Dylan said, “This was the worst idea,” and he had the most hectic expression I’ve ever seen on his face. Later he said, “I think I just shit myself.” “I’m sure you didn’t,” I said, pretending to not be appalled. “Everything’s fine,” I added. Privately I wasn’t so sure, in fact I had to vigorously mask my dismay. Thankfully, Dylan didn’t shit himself, but he almost might as well have. Because sometimes what you believe matters more than the truth. Dylan made a new rule afterwards. No more djing while completely fucked up, especially not on mystery drugs. That whole experience, hilarious as it was, was fairly traumatizing for us both. It doesn’t need to be repeated. Once is sufficient.