Mosh

Everything is close, detailed and sharp around you. As you raise the glass you feel it's weight in your arm, you're aware of the tendons, pulling and flexing, fingers wrapped around the smooth cut container. Your eyes focus on the rim of the glass, the liquid soft and golden inside. Your fingers flex and shift the glass, allowing the liquid to roll back and forth.

As the room fills, what happens around you continues to blur, the world rocks and the sounds of heavy guitar and painfully emotional vocals scrolls through the air, thumping through your mind.

This place is warm, the heat rises, the energy increases, and people move, they dance, shedding their inhibitions, and you join them. Everyone is so close, that as they move, you move, you feel like you belong, like your part of the movement, like your part of one movement. The music throbs, and everyone slams together, bodies, heat, a gossamer atmosphere, spoon fed to the room.

You bounce, you weave, you move, inside and out, you move, the chaos brings you together and tears you apart. There is a harmony in this disharmony, there is a belonging in this dance. As the room thuds, you thread yourself together, pieces of you coming together... and the music continues to drive you all.

The mood snaps. As you exit the venue, the air cools you, the aftermath drills you with adrenaline, your lungs swallow the air fresher than ever before, your eyes are more receptive, everything around you dances, the city streets move like a tremulous miscarriage of movement. City lights glimmer and flicker, playing off the kiss of rain.

As the wobbling carriage pulls off, the warm muggy air of underground tube tunnels filters through your damp hot hair, and it feels so refreshing, the constant white noise whistles in your ear, and for a reason beyond contemplation, this feels like the strangest, most euphoric moment of harmony in your life. 

The End

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