The Freaky peoples longue @ e55 with Wallapoolooza & Kayhat

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Tribe 187 presents The Freaky Peoples Lounge. 6th of June from 7pm til close.

He shivered in the icicle breeze as he stepped off the 99 tram from Lygon street at the end of the run down Elizabeth street. He pulled his collar up and strode the remaining metres to those stairs that led to heaven and hell @ e55.

Last night, she had once again evaded his clutches whilst whispering “Leave it til Freaky Peoples Lounge, e55”, her breath like boiling sweet treacle to a mad child, singeing the hair in his ear with her heat and her smell of real woman, all class.

the guys who put it on, Tribe 187, came from a place of golden beaches and rolling hills with archaic and wild people dancing hedonistically with their faces toward the sunshine like sunflowers. It was now time for some of this mythology from the fields of elysium to infect the city with Love.

The smooth as soul music rolled around his head, making love to his eardrums, dipping in, slinking out like a panther. The smooth catboy Wallapolooza fixed him with a knowing smile that suggested a lifetime of behind the decks food.

And there She was, cuddled up between a guy in a head to toe blue morph suit (drinking through his mask) and a little guy that you could down to but look up to at the same time. She leaned against the bar with an eyebrow cocked like a hammer, ready to blow his brains out with her eyes.

She raised a glass to his lips, the ambrosia trickled down his neck and it was like drinking honey from a beehive. The room warmed up even further, spilling on his skin from head to toe and she led him by his tie to the soft couch. She perched upon his lap, shifting her weight which suggested what she might be like between the sheets. The naughty couples across from them were playing twisted games which further provoked the flush from the drink.

That cat with the kangol hat Kayhat stepped up to give Wally a break, his half-crazy, half-insane eyes drawing from the crowd the stories he wanted to tell aurally, some sad, some hilarious, all engaging. The nights energy ebbed and towed along with the tunes, the room spun around and around, teeth flashing, laughter lapping, eyes glinting in the warm pool that was the freaky peoples lounge, ya dig…

He woke up in the alley with no money in his pockets, but his tram ticket was in his pocket still. The bitch had spiked his drink. Again. He got on the tram with the intent of stepping off at the same place, same time next week. “Third times a charm”, he thought to himself as tram rattled down the tracks the street in the crystalline night of Melbourne.
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