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all words and photos by Lexie Moreland

When I was at this party I was naturally thinking about what I would later say about it. I remember telling myself to begin the copy with, “beepa da da da dop a dee da”, or something to the tune-sound of that. I know, gross. And the reason for thinking it the right idea to preface that way escapes me. I suppose I vaguely remember some older attendees slam-jamming with swirly arms sans glow sticks, but i didn’t get anything minimally close to that on film. I was so in gawk at the love of it I’m sure getting precise reportage slipped away like everyone’s wine glasses.

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Any of the less, I really recall an old guy cruising around with 8.5″ x 11″ loose leaves and drawing to the beat of this musical art collar crime. I imagined the papers to look like contours of the melody, but the whole being of it so blind to me. But so is love. So merrily and then I was also in gawk.

So noted, simply and plainly the party was all-around breezy and pure rooftop fun, even when red wine went sloshing around near the graffitti masterpieces that were the supposed features of the celebration.

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