Back in the Box
I’m happy to report that things seem to have normalized.
For now.
After a relatively calm weekend, I breezed into Monday with no commitments, no plans and, remarkably, no immediate consequences from anything I’d done the week before.
I ended up at Deep Box after a text from Duda.
You might think that’s strange, since Duda of course belongs to Sunvana, but DJs move between decks almost as easily as I rotate my men. Nobody seems particularly bothered by either arrangement.
Deep Box had taken things outside, something clubs seem to be doing a lot lately. As it turned out, being outdoors would become something of a theme that night, although I didn’t know that yet.
For the moment, I was perfectly happy where I was.
The mood was good, the temperature pleasant and the sun had already set by the time I settled in for most of Alex’s set. One of those lovely Monday evenings where nothing particularly dramatic needs to happen. Good music, beautiful faces, a drink in my hand and absolutely no reason to be anywhere else.
Naturally, I forgot to ask someone to take a picture of me. Again. I really need to become better at this. I can photograph half a nightclub from seventeen different angles, but somehow consistently fail to produce any evidence that I attended it myself.
In my defense, the departure was rather sudden. At some point, someone said three words.
Rooftop. Foam. Party.
I’m not sure who said it, and frankly they could have stopped after “foam.”
We were gone before I knew it.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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