Something that gets overlooked in the experience of clubbing is the haze after dancing your ass off for what feels like hours. Riding out the catharsis at 140 BPM, stumbling away from the floor. The destimulation after you step outside the door of the club couldn’t be any more different. It could be 40 degrees and breezing against your sweaty body but damn if that isn’t the best feeling you’ve had all night. Cigarette smoke is fluttering in front of your friends’ faces as they scan the street, eager to get back inside. The hazy kicks from inside the club are rubbing your spine as you lean against the building. It’s intoxicating enough that you could have sworn they were just playing a Curve remix inside.
Is it really almost 2 AM? The whole moment is enough to make you woozy, but that could be the trance breakdown you can barely hear inside or the random person leaning their head against your shoulder. It’s not quite the void of stimulus, but “Bad Baby” is somewhere on the edge of it. The post-club relief in all its grimy bliss. It’s a feeling equally as entrancing as the floor.
More about: Negative Gemini
