It's
the atmosphere he notices first. While moments ago it was warm with
a summer breeze keeping the air fresh, suddenly its thick and humid,
full of sweat and sex. There's noise too. At first it sounds like
someone's tuning an old analogue radio, turned up to full volume.
But that soon gives way to the steady, relentless beat of a drum
machine.
When
he opens his eyes he's blinded by white light, a panorama of frozen
writhing bodies before him. Flash, and the bodies jump to new
contortions. Flash, and they change again. It takes him a moment to
realise he's looking at a dance floor, bathed in strobe lighting, the
panorama moving in a series of staccato snapshots.
“Good
grief,” he mutters to himself, “I've brought myself to a rave.”
