Trisha Lord

The music sounded heavy like an army of jackboots marching around the room, their presence dense and threatening, pinning my back to the cold wall, gluing my backside to the floor as people all around me grinned – gleefully swaying maniacs, blissfully unaware that the dj was masterminding a concentration camp in which we would all be locked up, before dawn could rescue us from the infested night that was swallowing me in bite sized chunks of repetitive beats: “we’re all in it together love, thick as thieves” he whispers, as I plead for mercy, and the music pounds on.


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