Lights, loud music, those electricity balls you'd find at Spencer's. This basement is something I wasn't ready for: a room so full of smoke that I have no idea how big it is, or who is standing in front of me. All I see are lights, flashes of color, hands, lights, afterimages, beating against my eyes and ears and vibrating through my skull, into my spine. All I can see are hands.
Hands. Green. Purple. Yellow. Red. Hands.
I have no control over my eyes, my body, or my surroundings.
Black. White. Red. Purple.
Music blasting out of its speakers, boldly escaping its cell and beating out any particles that dare hang around the air. Everyone jumping, swaying, fighting the vibrations.
Is this my body?
Spiked hair and torn t-shirts. That's all I can see. The Danish girls I came here with had already headed upstairs. But I stay, feeling the walls shaking, and still trying to see past the smoke, I close my eyes.
"So, this is Berlin," I'm thinking.
It's insane. Absolutely insane. I see the pulse of the music in the lights and i'm not sure what my body is doing, what it looks like, where I am.
I shrug, and pulse along.