BLONDE, SLIM and with bambi blue eyes,
frail shoulders covered by a white cardigan, with a sweet little mouth, now formed in a perfect O, as part of a lost look to match my own, we rushed together, embracing.
We'd only met the day before but were overjoyed - as only two trancers on the other side of an elevated night with no prospect of sleep anytime soon could be.
Now we were two.
"Ha-hah!" I cried with new found (make that cute girl found) enthusiasm. "Cassy! Wicked. Where have you been?"
"Ah - I'm not . . . The Tran-Trance Zone."
She was all exquisite crystal as she met my gaze; black holes consumed her magellanic irises. I wanted to don shining armour and mount a white charger, to assail into the very depths of their dark. To backstroke through them. I felt a surge of energy, a bushfire bright running before the wind, a deep-seated swell that -
(At least not yet.)
"You look cold. Are you on your own?"
“Uh-huh. I was dancing and I lost everyone. I turned and nobody was there."
Her pupils widened further, if that was possible. She looked spooked and I longed to hug her - maybe I should confess my love? - but restrained myself.
"Well you've got me now. Want to head to the Food Tent and warm up?"
(Warm . . . in the Indigo glow.)
We found the Food Tent and a spot at the back beside the barista, and there we sat and stayed. We sipped multiple coffees; we babbled and murmured; we were tender; we were entangled; and we enjoyed the old school set of rap being spun.
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