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The factory walls are pulsating with light, the floor vibrating with beating sounds. The fabric of space time has been abandoned to music

Hovercrafts come and go, full of the strangest beings from the furthest reaches of the universe. Oxygen rooms, sulphur rooms, liquid rooms: the party caters for all

No sun will ever rise: here is nowhere, a rock lost between galaxies, a billion year emptiness ahead

There is only the party, tiniest of nothings sprung out of a wormhole

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Mastocafé

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