Clubber lurkhouse

Glow sticks are set to muted

The sounds of Tiesto pound not but only tickle against a sleeping sub-woofer

In the darkness you can just about see other clubbers lurking

This is a liminal space, neither eating, sleeping, raving, or repeating is done here

Only silent contemplation of the death of a collective dream

At the hands of late capitalism

No heavy petting

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Still can’t believe he beat Rocky

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My favourite Oasis lyrics

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