| Steam fogs the bathroom. Cologne hangs heavy in the air as we slather and oil our bodies. Perfectly powdered and perfumed preparing to unleash ourselves onto the freaky funk that can only be found downtown in the freedom of Friday night. Every street blends into the next. Flashes and streaks of neon, color, and life. Drinking it in to savor and sin. Dancing to disco many bodies in the crowd. Moving and grooving the music's so loud. Like warriors focused in tribal chant group mind of one motion, one purpose, one dance. A party is born in the dark, empty space that is night. Feeding our souls on the idea that maybe we're right. That everything's possible, everything's outta sight in the psychedelic wisdom we've found in Friday night. |
