“Sprink there is a three-townhouse-house-party in Fitzroy – come NOW”. Twas 11:50pm and the message was from Luke – a particularly symmetrical gent who was around the corner from me casa, and knew a good damn party. “K” said Sprink who jumped outta bed, put on an outfit of glittery delight and arrived at a laneway. After taking directions from an inebriated human and scared possum, she found DA PARTY which was made up entirely of badly dressed kids. The renters of the three townhouses had banded together to create a mass-block-party (‘should we knock the fences down?’ they asked ‘NO WE WILL LOSE THE BOND’ Luke replied) decked out with lots of fairy lights and outdoor couches. Because they have no money but lots of creativity, there was a purpose-built stage made of pallets and rocks, propping up live bands and French DJs. After dancing with a double-whammy amyl-daddy in the mosh pit, the party got shut down by the po-po *who showed up 8pax strong = like relax guys*, but still, The Sprink went home happy she because she has fashion sense.
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