The Corridor.
A night in a corridor, a hand gripped in gratitude, and the quiet conviction that the music will carry us through.
I met him at the edge of the corridor that broke open into the main room. He stood like a block of oak, leaning on the wall, his eyes fierce, flashing colours from the dance in front of him. I leapt forward and gripped his hand. It had strength and he smiled calmly.
“I just wanted to thank you” I shouted over the boom boom music, high hats crisp and cutting cold on my neck. “For what you’ve always done, but especially now. Especially now, when we need it most.”
“Yeah man.” His brow carved up and he felt the pain of the why. Why we needed this music now more than ever.
“DJs like you are like shamans to me. Shamans for this revolution.” And he smiled at that, then laughed and gripped my hand tighter. “And you know. We are gonna make it. We are gonna fucking do this.”
He pulled me in close, put his mouth to my ear and calm, so calm, so the music dropped away to make space for him, he replied.
“Yes. Yes we fucking are.”