In the belly of the maelstrom, I’m caught in a psychedelic dance of swirling lights, liquid shapes, and a cacophony that could drown out the devil himself.

At the chaos’s epicenter, four monolithic stacks of speakers, tethered by a chaotic web of cables, converge at a hole in a nearby wall. Behind this wall, a clandestine room beckons…

Contemplating the absurdity of this hidden sanctuary, it harbors a solitary soul, two turntables, some hi-fi contraptions, and a stack of vinyl records. Not exactly the most organic setup, but within these walls, a phenomenon unfolds. A multitude cavorts, twirls, and laughs within this living vortex.

I’m sucked into its electric waters – the beast I birthed devours me whole – tempting me to meld with the rhythmic tribal beats, the kaleidoscope of lights, and the mass of sweat-soaked bodies…

A hand plunges into the pool, dragging me out. For a moment, I stand dripping, clutching onto the serenity of the present. But without the pool’s foundation, the drops hit the ground and vanish. The exterior snaps back into focus.

“Noise control is here. You better come down.”

Still adjusting, I quip, “Noise control? What do they want? We’re not in a residential zone, are we?”

“I dunno.”

“Damn. We can’t halt the revelry now – there must be at least 300 souls up there…”

Stepping into the cold, I hear drunken roars from a nearby pub that just shuttered. It’s around 3am. Mr. Noise Control, clad in uniform, looks wearied. I ponder who would summon this poor man at such an ungodly hour.

“Good morning, officer. Are we keeping somebody up? You can barely hear the music from out here…”

“We’ve had three calls,” he replies.

“All from the same person, I presume…”

He raises an eyebrow. I persist, “We’re smack in the middle of the city. Three hundred people up there are having the time of their lives. You should be arresting those drunks over there, not us.”

He raises the other eyebrow, handing over an official-looking document. “This is a warning. Turn it down a bit, okay? If I need to return, I’ll confiscate your sound gear. It’ll cost you $55 per item to get it back, plus $25 per day it’s in storage. Failure to comply will land you with a $10,000 fine.”

“Right… Thanks.”

Back inside, I enter the hidden room and twist the bass frequency three notches to the left. The ‘BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM’ morphs into a ‘thud thud thud thud.’ My action sends a ripple through the whirlpool, vocalizing its protest with shouts and whistles. But the room keeps spinning, under its silent synergy, like a cosmic dance with chaos.