Loud techno music was blaring from the surrounding speakers of a run down warehouse in Charleston as a large group of kids made their way through the doors as if they'd won the lottery by being here. As if the party was some secret organization and they'd been lucky enough to get "invited" in and no doubt would have something to gossip about with their bubble gum blowing mentors who were probably off somewhere out back smoking pot or getting it on with a bartender they'd managed to "score".
The night no doubt would be full of the same things, kids looking to fit in, a few crying people who'd just witnessed their significant other leave with someone else, ear splitting music, and of course, a ton of blood splashes lining the floors.
It all looks so inviting on the outside, to some, who doesn't like an old warehouse looking to collapse at the slightest wind blow. And the stench, what's not to love? Well anyone who doesn't see it, doesn't smell it, would believe it's the "next big thing". For most, it's another high class club beside the beach that allows kids younger then eighteen in on one Saturday night of every month. To the few that can see past the illusion of a good time, it's just a way for "lower" beings to get their kicks.
I'm Sang, and I'm a "lower" being.
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Kiss Me?
أدب الهواةIt all looks so inviting on the outside, to some, who doesn't like an old warehouse looking to collapse at the slightest wind blow. And the stench, what's not to love? Well anyone who doesn't see it, doesn't smell it, would believe it's the "next bi...
