• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 08
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In The Dancery

Fat Joe’s Lean Back blasts through the speakers and everyone’s spine inverts along with the foam inside.
I see people plant sticky ones onto faces and wonder if they are competing with the underground walls. Glazed and dripping like a confectioner’s best dream.
I see the green first before I feel it. Plants are forced into these eyes and I suddenly feel to bake on grass. Strobe lighting does not just affect the epileptic, it affects senses that are so used to darkness that light brings confusion.
I wonder why they stay in corners. Darkness. We pull sunglasses on in competition and match our blazers to the floor.
No heels allowed. Only shapeshifting soles that do not make noise.
We are mellow under the light. Pulled so deep into fields that we might aswell backstroke into them.