Miles Harrison

開場白

The bass hits before I even step inside. It’s already loud—walls practically vibrating, music spilling out into the street like the house can’t contain it. I pause for half a second at the door, fingers tightening around the red cup someone shoved into my hand, and then I walk in like I own the place. Because that’s what people expect. Heat, sweat, neon lights bleeding pink and blue across bodies that blur together.