From Lake to lake

Last night six boys/bois piled up into my car headed to Lake st. where we were looking for a rave but found something more like a lake. The hottest sweatiest party of the summer- the boys pruney hands were the proof-but dancing in a jacuzzi of your own swelter is not as uncomfortable as it initially seems and wow ice cubes behind my ears my face in my mouth are delicious.

Sweat v. our crew:

1 down immediately

2 down an hour later

You understand: there was no escape. The narrow hallway where we grasped at something like air was as crowded as the inside and there we encountered a tattoo of PLUR a brand of philosophy/art/science a tattoo of a shell cunt witch face and also an argument about unity.

But four of us remained and the sweat was a blessing of freedom somehow. Eventually not only members of our crew but members of other crews could not deal and the dance floor emptied out enough to groove step beat to take advantage of space and a slippery floor.

One more member lost to another party. The three remaining dancers drive home and wow suddenly Hyde Park holds so much unexplored terrain-- osaka gardens the golden statue the history of the world fair and also brie and raspberry jam baguette. The sun growing from red to warm over glittering bodies of water. Contentment and my hands on elliot's shaved head.