Tales of a lock-in
It’s 5am, you are in the club and in the middle of one serious head rush. Your friends are around you enjoying the tunes but you cannot take it any longer.
You head for the door, the last thing you remember is taking a piece of paper from a pretty girl outside the club as you head for a dark alley. She smiles, knowingly. No words are spoken, what needs to be said ?
You slowly come around, its 6.30am and there’s not a soul in sight. You pick yourself up from the doorway and walk to the main road. Just as it starts to rain, you realise you left your coat in the club with your keys, wallet and phone in. You are stranded in the middle of the city, miles from home. As you stand there, dazed, you put your hand in your pocket and feel something. Pulling out the piece of paper you realise it’s a flyer, an invitation to an illegal After Ours session in a nearby warehouse.
As the rain falls and the city comes to life you wander the streets looking for the venue. Your eyes and imagination appear to be playing tricks on you once more, you hear the faint sounds of bass in the distance. The heavens open as a storm erupts and you turn down a deserted alley, through the doors of an old derelict warehouse. As you push open the heavy wooden doors, the kick drum hits you.
You immediately immerse yourself in the music, as if on cue the excesses of a few hours earlier return with a vengeance. Hours pass as you drift in and out of a trance, lost in sound. Some tunes give you a chance to gather your thoughts, others cast you even further into the worm hole.
How did you get here ? How are you going to get home ? “You can’t understand” shouts the record and the whole club appears to be chanting it. You start to feel slightly uneasy, put your head down and carry on dancing.
As the anxiety grows and the sub bass kicks in, you yearn for a friendly face. The once welcoming atmosphere appears more sinister now. At this precise moment the pretty flyer girl floats past you. Your mood changes and your heart races. Where did she go ? Who is she ?
The record sings “All I want is You, just You !”
Through the smoke appears the silhouette of the mystery lady, she seems to have sensed your mood and thrusts a can of beer into one hand and a lit cigarette onto your lips. You speak no words, what needs to be said ?
You dance together as the angels sing through the speakers and you feel something slip down your throat from the bottom of the beer can. She smiles as you realise what just happened. Hold tight, shit’s about to get real !
Once again, what seems like hours pass as your head gets pulled from left to right by the music. You take a minute to sit down, as the rush intensifies you find yourself struggling to understand what the record is saying about music. Time passes and you’re back on the floor, mystery lady is nowhere to be seen.
Wave after wave comes and goes, once again at the precise moment you feel a panic attack coming on, your guardian angel appears with a bottle of water.
You speak no words, what needs to be said ?
You move in unison as the music builds and builds. At one moment the DJ loops the track for what seems an eternity, it builds and builds. As the synthesiser cuts through the smoke filled room the crowd starts to roar, waiting for the kick drum. In the distance you spot a group of familiar faces. The entire space erupts as the kick comes in and there, on the speaker stack, you see your friends, reaching for the solitary strobe light. You rush over to them, they see you, give you a knowing smile and point to your coat, safe with theirs.
No words are spoken, what needs to be said ?
Together again with your friends and new companion, the whole room once more grooves in unison to the heavy bass lines. The cycle continues until your broken body can take it no longer.
Once again, as if on cue, you are taken by the hand and led from the club. You glance over you shoulder to the crew who give you a knowing smile. No words are spoken, what needs to be said ?
© Andy Ward June 2011
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