The Boiler Room at Unit 22

[squirmelia]

She gazed into every puddle that night, searching for elastic bands to replace the hair ties that slithered away from her plaits into the dark, into the rain.

Before that, she was told that she looked too young to go inside the pub where the people she knew were, so she peeked at them through the window, getting more and more drenched, as they laughed, as the minutes passed.

At Unit 22, she found it compelling to watch people mosh with the sea as a backdrop, but when she tried to leave, she found herself lost and ended up in (what she presumed was) the boiler room, staring at the silver ceiling, crawling underneath the pipes as if it were an adventure playground. It reminded her somehow of Neasden bunker, but without the rust, without the mould. To her, that night, the room was exciting and even after she left and had been slightly scolded by security guards on the way out, she giggled at her previous enthusiasm that now seemed absurd.

Comments

[squirmelia.livejournal.com]

Hello. I cannot remember the party very well, due to the consumption of rather too much alcohol. I hope I did not say anything too awful to anyone.

I use Barbelith, but tend to read it far more than I actually write on it. My use of LiveJournal is fairly similar, although I hit "refresh" a little more frequently. I'm thinking of meeting up with some Barbelith people in London on Friday night, so if you're in the area and want to meet some of them, do let me know.

[oedipamaas49.livejournal.com]

I hope I did not say anything too awful to anyone.

Not at all; you were charming, witty, and only swaying very slightly ;)

Unfortunately on Friday night I'll be working, and in Cambridge, otherwise I would have loved to turn up. Have fun!