I didn’t see anything at first. I had been resting the entire weight of my body on the railing overlooking the bottom floor of The Mohawk, right above the stage. All of us lined up against the metal barrier — delirious and drooping in exhaustion — had become friends over the past couple of hours waiting to see Tyler, the Creator. We had stood there guarding our spots, sharing South by stories (who saw what band, which celebrity took a picture with who, etc.), exchanging phones and numbers, taking turns to go to the restroom, buy drinks and eat hot dogs. I was tired — already on my SXSW Day 6 — and I was hardly paying attention to the band anymore. I looked out onto the street. Mindlessly.