He was Mike D’s bandmate. I’d met him briefly once before, but something had changed. I knew immediately that I would do anything to be near him. I felt like a dog that had gotten lost in the woods for years and was finally seeing its person again. Adam Horovitz was sitting on a construction digger in the performers’ area listening to Noise Addict when I bolted toward him. I ran straight at him without saying anything. Startled, he hid behind the digger. I chased him around it until we were both tired. Then I asked him if he wanted to play dominoes with me. Thus began the daily ritual of tour, finding ways to be with him. I borrowed two skateboards from the guys in Rancid and went up to a group of musicians. “Who wants to go skateboarding?” I said, trying to seem casual. I looked right at Adam. “I do,” he said. We skateboarded around Adelaide and then lay on the pavement behind a grade school talking and looking at the stars. One night Beastie Boys and Bikini Kill played music together in the hotel lobby. We commandeered the bar band’s equipment when they took a break and performed a long, sloppy version of Steve Miller’s “Rock’n Me.” It was fun. And I only realized how desperately I needed fun once I started having it again.