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June 14, 2008
Train journeys, listening to the music as the landscape changes before me, always make me sentimental. I miss the nightclubs of London. The official ones, where you melt into a crowd of strangers and leave six hours later covered in their sweat, and the unofficial ones, staged for just one night in an abandoned warehouse. Dancing for ever without chemicals, without alcohol, blinded my the sound, the base forcing the air out of your lungs, thumping in your chest like a second heart as you raise your arms above your head and sway, moved by the power of the rhythm.