He saw inside Elisa that night, right to her soul. Not by the yellow glow from the moon but beneath a scorching spotlight, its gels rotating red, green, red. The throb of music from the speakers, clean sweat, the chemical smell of dry ice: He had never wanted that blurry carnival of wasted youth to end.  --  The Glittering World   photo credit: Bill Henson
       
     
 He saw inside Elisa that night, right to her soul. Not by the yellow glow from the moon but beneath a scorching spotlight, its gels rotating red, green, red. The throb of music from the speakers, clean sweat, the chemical smell of dry ice: He had never wanted that blurry carnival of wasted youth to end.  --  The Glittering World   photo credit: Bill Henson
       
     

He saw inside Elisa that night, right to her soul. Not by the yellow glow from the moon but beneath a scorching spotlight, its gels rotating red, green, red. The throb of music from the speakers, clean sweat, the chemical smell of dry ice: He had never wanted that blurry carnival of wasted youth to end.

-- The Glittering World

photo credit: Bill Henson