No Way Out
Some nights announce their aftermath long before they're over. You already know you'll be paying for them tomorrow, but that's a problem for whenever that cute purple pill wears off.
Thursday means Valmoor, and this Thursday it meant the Boiler Room. It also marked the return of Melissa in the middle of it, releasing the beats onto us. It had been a while since she'd played there, but for me it was more than that. It had also been far too long since I'd seen her, heard her and lost myself in one of her sets. Last night made up for all of it.
The music came in relentless waves. Every track pushed a little harder than the last, leaving little room to catch our breath. Then again, breathing wasn't exactly easy. The Boiler Room was absolutely packed. It was hot, loud and crowded. People pressed in from every direction, the occasional elbow, shoulder or other body part making itself known. Even if I'd wanted to leave, and I most certainly didn't, it simply wasn't an option. We couldn't move. We couldn't get out.
The only sensible thing left to do was surrender.
Around me were familiar faces I'd missed, new ones I hadn't met yet, lingering glances, confident smiles and the collective energy that only exists because we had all decided that not being awesome is someone else's problem. A few people had clearly visited their favourite surgeon since the last time I'd seen them. Sylvia, if you're reading this, you look absolutely gorgeous.
Everyone had come with the same goal: look their best, dance like nobody was watching, and make this a night worth remembering. Judging by the aftermath I woke up with today, I'd say we succeeded.
Have a look through the photos and see if you agree.
Click them for a larger resolution and save.
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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