They Brought Back Punk
After that punk party at the Continental recently, I found an empty pack of cigarettes in my mailbox a few days later. Inside was a small handwritten note: “They Bring Back Punk. But for real.” Underneath it, a date and an address. I asked around. Had anyone else gotten one? Was this some sort of prank? Nobody seemed to know anything. Or they all knew exactly what it was and had decided that watching me walk into it would be more entertaining.
Curiosity won, as it usually does, so last night I dressed accordingly, which in punk terms mostly means looking like you slept badly on purpose, and took the subway into Nadia, better known as the Drune Gigerpunk district.
At the exact time and place written on the note, yes, I can be punctual when the situation calls for it, I found myself among a group of equally curious and slightly worried strangers as someone motioned us over from around a corner. From there we just followed the sound of distorted music and bad decisions deeper into the streets until we descended into what looked like an abandoned underground bunker.
That was The Roxy.
“Hera cracked it open,” someone shouted at me before the rest of the explanation disappeared into what might’ve been Johnny Rotten or a washing machine being murdered. Hard to say. Punk has range.
But honestly? This night felt right almost immediately. Within ten minutes the walls were sweating, the floor was vibrating and somebody was already yelling about safety regulations and the complete lack of toilets. Whatever. Nobody came there for comfort. We’d find somewhere else for sex, drugs or emotional collapse. Humans are resourceful like that.
Whoever spread those invitations across the grid curated the crowd perfectly: beautiful, strange, slightly dangerous and absolutely committed to chaos. For hours we melted together into one loud, messy organism fueled by anarchy and pure volume. By sunrise we crawled back up the stairs into a part of town where even police cars probably lock their doors at red lights.
It took me forever to get back to the subway. My ears are still ringing.
Worth 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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