Dana takes my hand and pulls me into the crowd, through a collision of skin and denim, clashing rhythms and thrashing bodies gnashed together. Chest against flesh, I can hear the music through her, finger pulses typing code into my limbs. I sway, rocked in the crush, hemmed by the gentle ravening. Moved to move and led astray, I listen to Dana’s steps and dips, watch each beat breeding a syncopated beading upon her brow. Sweet, glistening moments, tussled into tempo and thrown with little twirls. Elsewhere in the gaudy ruckus, all else fades away until only she remains.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.