Huddled together in this smokey tent we passed over gold coins for chai. The rhythm of the music was ever-present but not overwhelming. We happily chatted away as the festival pulsed around us, revelers going every direction with or without purpose in their steps. Some stopped staggering to stare at the brightly lit statues or the scintillating reflections in the lake. Others marched urgently, to new stages, new drugs, new consciousnesses. The world was ours and we knew it. We held it in our hands and passed it over our lips, and its warmth swelled between us.
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