The wicked drum beats like a weapon, pulsating in your chest in a manner that feels surprisingly invigorating. One of tonight's featured acts is well into its set, but it's hard to say which band it is. Somewhere along the line the roster got screwed up. Not even the doorman is sure who it is up there. Might be Cold War, might be It Dies Today.
People climb onstage and flop back into the crowd. They remain momentarily suspended in the air, rag dolls held up by a multitude of bodiless arms and hands, until they sink back into the chaos. Everything in here is sweating, even the walls.
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