Summer of London. The steadiest house beats. The surliest dub. The wary sun creeps up at half 4, (half 4!) and you still have 3 hours to scuttle and shift to tunes like this. Raving to such staccato electron underneath the railroad tracks which by day is stolen car storage garage, the smell was a pungent mix of damp brick, fag smoke and smoke machine smoke, fuming into the arched shadowy chambers.
It has settled upon us
love up,
Fam xOxOx