It's so late. I'm so tired. So is Graham Sayle. The High Vis singer is happy to tell us about it: "I'm fucked. My voice is fucked." (In his thick-ass accent, it's more like: "Ah'm fooked. Mah vyce uz fooked.") It's Wednesday night. Technically, it's been Halloween for an hour. Before High Vis came onstage, I sat in my car for a few minutes, internally debating over whether I should wait around or start the 90-minute drive back home. After this show, I'll go home, sleep for three hours, and then wake up to take my kids to school. High Vis have a drive coming up, too; they play Baltimore tomorrow. Most of the people in this room will have to work tomorrow. There's an election coming up next week, and it will not go well -- not that "well" was ever even an option. We're all stressed and worn out, but we're here because we're looking for something transcendent. High Vis will deliver.