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Or at least, the queue to get into this rave. There are a lot, A LOT of people here. You observe with some consternation that only a minority of them appear to actually be dressed as goths (inwardly, you realise Heather was right about the lame poseurs...) And even at this distance, you can hear the pounding and punishing thud of percussive industrial beats, which makes you dread to imagine just a little of how loud it must be inside, within the writhing, churning vortices of that maw of dancing flesh. Here in the queue outside, the floor is actually sticky with what you presume is spilt beverages or... other fluids.
