Purple

This purple noise... swirling about my nose, I can't help breathing it in. It tastes smoky and dark and delicious - like wine from a particular wineglass. Carpets that smell like church and basements - a lingering mold that flavors this stew of music and booze and bodies, oh-so-particularly. The faithful and the foreign linger here, in their respective bubbles, treasuring their own respective baubles from a night well spent, or misspent. But the bass strings play on, and on, and on... moving this purple air in pulses towards my ears, my heart, my head.