On The Perfect Side Of Dingy
Black satin, bass, and blood
--
Walking out the door, we squint against the surprising brightness of day. We wait to regroup, then take a picture. We look fresh as daisies. We definitely should not. It’s 6:30 am.
Electrowerkz, an old metal works warehouse and yard dating all the way back to Victorian times, where drinks are still cheap and nights still long, looks even more imposing in the morning light. Edgy. On the perfect side of dingy. Like things happen in there.
We giggle. They do.
We meet for drinks in a friend’s flat nearby first. Our husbands are all away for work. Not that we wouldn’t have gone out otherwise. But it does give the night an edge. The boys have a giant G&T ready for me and it couldn’t possibly be any more delicious.
We’re so buzzing catching up that we don’t leave the flat until after midnight. We join the queue, which shimmers in the streetlights with black satin, leather (all faux in my mind), and lace. I pose for the front door security snap like it’s a photoshoot. The guy laughs. The one next to him gives me eyes. The bass is already shaking the walls hard.
We realize we just missed Leeroy, who used to be with The Prodigy in the 90’s, djing. Why the hell would he be on so early?
The crowd pulses. Waves. Resonates. Inviting us. We join it. We get lost. It’s bliss. Endless hours of it.
In the bathroom, I smash my finger trying to close a cubicle door that has no handle. There’s some blood. Before I go get a plaster from the front door, I take a quick pic, like everytime I’m here, with the Hunt Saboteurs sticker on one of the mirrors.
Then it’s back to the people, beats, and cyber lights…
We make reluctant progress towards the tube station, our all-black-everything clubbing fits contrasting sharply against the innocence of the new morning.
Our eyes are tired but faces glowing. Quiet Sunday earlybirds glance at us over their takeaway coffees. We’re still up. They’re already up. They so wish they were with us. (We think.)
We hug goodbye. Strange loneliness spreads over my chest as the empty tube train carries me to bed. Till next time.
Story 5 of 45
