Our Ol’ Oasis

We loved the limelight that night, but molly didn’t understand franks self-indulgence as he pertained to fight for the closest spot to the light. We might have meandered, knowing the outcome mixing her with amber, truth be told everyone saw the white, white shade that Harry, Catherine and Larry left the canopy in. Fortunately we covered our tracks, and ransacked a nearby station lifting a collation of pharma, water and food for the continuation of the night in hand. One of us reprimanded for the shorts he’d admired, after the bouncer inquired for his cooperation but failed his validation thus refraining access to the occupation. Rather, the invidious moan that rang among us, sounded harsh. Following some quick thinking we managed to bribe the stiff. So, we returned our attention to the planner: sound.

Controlled trepidation and chaos exasperated an organised entanglement of vibe feelers, ceiling steamers and a plentiful selection of those kindly aesthetically pleasing types. You’d bump, grind, find yourself out of your box as the time of the night passes you by ever so rapidly you might not remember why it went so quickly. In relation to the combination it is better with one, neither or the same, you’ll have to rock your own way, anyway. Relentlessly, our organs tremble in the swinging pinging noises from the deck, you bet, there isn’t a soul here not alive.

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