Heatwave in May and spring bank holiday. A torrid Monday, the dilated afternoon stretches its embrace on us all. The town is devoid of people and green patches of grass accommodate melting human bodies, all chasing shade and shadows. And then, following some overheated crammed trains, we’re back where we were yesterday. Depots, concrete buildings and no home as far as eyes can stretch, no one is working today other than cab drivers and train conductors. We are dressed in orange viscose, we feel like plastic people in a deserted town. In one blink of an eye, we are again home. The fold which keeps unfolding. Hundreds of sweaty bodies, more undressed than dressed, sliding onto each other, onto the music, onto the light beams penetrating the window blinds. We both dive in the crowd and feel at ease, we’re home baby. The crowd feels like a warm embrace. The heat embalms and coalesces us at once. The music resurrects the thirsty spirits and holds us altogether at once. The DJs are spiritual shamans who create and hold the space for us to exorcise any budding and established demons until the archangels take over and within hours we’ve purged, we are angels caressing each other with our feathered wings. We take off to the skies, the ceiling is the sky, we land softly. The techno beats hard and it teaches us softness, each beats chisels away each piece of our shell until we shed off all the hardness, we are soft, floaty and malleable. The other angels throw smiles at us, give us butterfly kisses and give a nod; everything is and will be divine. We are queer creatures of the sacred and of the profane at once, we sin by being and we purify by becoming. The torrid heat melts any inhibition left until all we are left with is love and compassion, we prey and we meditate, for us, for the world, for the spirits which inhabit us here. The hive is steaming and we are all hard working bees collecting the pollen and building our hive, it’s all honey and sweat here. We are lost in time in music in light rays and we are anything but lost from our inner children or from our best buddies. We find each other through pheromone trails and sweet spirit traces. We dive in kissing and in embracing as if we were all one and the same soul, whilst we bask in sun rays projected through the window grills and propelled directly from the gods overseeing us. We are the gods. We need to unfold to fold again. We shatter and we splinter here, so that we can be complete when we leave. We cannot leave, we are home baby.