what´s a Thomas´s recipe for threcherous times?

So, i didn´t know it was a rave.

but when i walked into the warehouse, heard the thump of fabricated beats and saw the projected 3D animation on the wall, i pretty much knew. It wasn´t really so much a rave in an American sense. There were no glowsticks, and perhaps less Thizz (I can´t spell ecstasy) than one would expect. But yes, Thomas had found himself within a rave.

Sara was asked to Firedance by the guy who set the party up, so she invited the group of crazy-awesome juggler kids that live (for the moment) in this open house/rooftop thing in the city and me. So, we all cut out and showed up looking much more haggard than the rest of the ¨partygoers¨ but these fools werent about to be outdone with clothes and shit.

This one guy starts shit out by taking a shovel, filling it with coals, covering it with gasoline, and setting that shit on fire. When they were red fucking hot, the fool grabs one out and throws it in the air, catching it in his mouth. He swallows it, and then the rest of the shovelfull, with ease, blowing his breath at the horrified/amazed ravers of Tucuman. From there, shit went off. People were spinning fire, juggling coals, all this crazy madness and I´m just kicking it on the wall. But Tommy is not dancing.

Then, i meet Sebastian, One of the best jugglers of the group. He knows that lil´Tommy knows very little Spanish, but this won´t stop him from communicating. Through crude hand signals, me and him make our way to the bar, and he hooks it up with a beer. and then a little while later, he kicks me down some other drink. dude is all about handshakes.

as I took a hit off somebody´s Vodka and Energy drink, i saw Pat Mazur shaking his head at me. ¨remember what happëned to Nikita man. I love you. I´m Pat.¨ I saw Mike D, ¨that shit is bad news Tommy. Sparks, all that alchohol/energy stuff. Bad news¨.

and then, i forgot it all in a fit of lust for dancing.

if you know me, you know that I don´t really dance. I´ll shake my ass to some Shakira or go dumb in Connie´s car, but I won´t dance. or at least i wouldn´t. but something in that Warehouse, those Argentine beers, and Sebastian´s smiles made me just want to get down.

I danced until 7:00 AM. I danced with pretty girls. I danced with short girls. I danced with dudes. i danced by myself. i was never out of control drunk, I always knew what the word was and i knew when to stop, but i drunk i definitly was.

Let me note that I didn´t really enjoy the feeling once I was done breaking shit down. I wanted to hear everything perfectly, i wanted to know that I wasn´t sounding stupid. I could definitely never become one of those drinkers that gets trashed and goes to hotel rooms with girls (doesn´t matter if you don´t do anything with them, youngin), but as a lubricant for my boogie, cervesas hit the spot.