A heavy baseline is my kind of silence.
The volume is pumped up to the highest level on the stereo. It’s so intense; you can feel it pulsing through you, replacing the blood that streams through your veins. Flashing strobe lights make everyone look like robots, dancing wildly in broken, disjointed movements. There’s bodies pressed up against each other, packed like a concentration camp. Sweat that’s running down your arms, forehead, neck, probably isn’t yours. But who cares? The only thing you can feel is the blinding head-rush from the little, innocent white pills you recall taking less than an hour ago. Light, quick giggles are escaping from your mouth, barely audible, but they stop when a stranger’s lips are suddenly pressed against yours. Who is that? Curious more than confused, you open your eyes and try to make out anything around you. It’s a whirl of bright colours, a kaleidoscope. And then the stranger is gone and you’re dancing again, not caring about tomorrow.