I'm seeing things dancing at 4 am

Man, I just can't fall asleep tonight. It's going on 4 AM and here I am, washing dishes and flossing and taking trash out and performing all sorts of pointless domestic activities. I happened to stumble on this story a bit ago, about how Magic Mountain may be closing. That's so sad. I went there often as a young lad, and I even worked there yonder about nine years ago before I went away to attend university. I remember selling tickets to seriously big-time actor Pete Postlethwaite, waving Ben Stiller through the parking lanes, and watching Hulk Hogan carouse through the front gates with his entourage, and then bragging about these chance encounters to whomever would listen...until someone who shall remain nameless shamed me into disowning my grand experiences. But it was Pete Postlethwaite! How could you not scream the details of that chance encounter to the heavens?! Our meeting will be sung about in times of yore. In the future, you know, with lasers and shit.

Tyrebious Reaber, I gently pour a container of fizzy malt liquor to remember you by and stuff onto the steaming black tarmac. Floyd, the exceedingly introverted guy with big thick glasses. I nicknamed him The Cobra in a clumsy, backfiring attempt at empowerment. Instead, he would arch his brow at me and ask me why I was drinking his Coke.