Saturday night.
With my female companion at my side, I snake my way through the back alleys of "Boystown". Finally coming to a hault, at what used to be an old warehouse. Now, part theatre, part dance club, and reportedly haunted, it houses not only ghosts, the "spirits" of a more "inhebriating" quality.
My I.D. is checked, and double checked, at the door. Upon verfication, we are ushered into the bowls of the old theatre. The wails and groans of the festival's participants, are audible before we even reach the main entrance. Passing beneath the curtain, and the dim, red spotlights, I encounter a retinal hodgepodge, that would make the 'Marquis de Sade' blush with evny. Torture devices of every kind. Metal restraints, that gleam with their polished perfection. Pale, naked skin. Bound in black leather. Sweat rolling off it in rivers. The sounds of whips reverberating off flesh, from every corner of the room. An S&M paradise.
I walk, taking it all in. Occasionally, I look up. Towards the dark, recesses of the old, warehouse catwalk. A place where light not longer shines. I ponder the men and women whom slaved here, in the building's previous existance. How similar it must have been for them. To toil and sweat. To grunt with pain, and fatigue. To be forced to live in complete exhaustion, just to procure a megar paycheck, in which to live.
And at the same time, I wonder if they are watching.
[last edit 9/13/2004 5:57 AM by Brat Bondage - edited 2 times]
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