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there is no emptier crescent of feeling than wandering through unfeeling, unending crowds, more alone than you ever have felt in your lifetime.
walking through weaves of tangled people.a jungle of broken smilesflailing arms and uncertain steps.Watching heavy bottom women fluff their skirtswhile men saw their sholders in their seats.
the bumping of the bass the crowed room the dimming of the lights the chanting the silhouette of the performer the rush of adrenaline that hits you there is no other feeling in the world
The screaming has ceased