(no subject)
Life tends to progress in cycles. Life and death. The rise and fall of a civilization. Fashion trends. Politics. And music.
The band booked at Tokyo Hall that night claimed they'd returned to the roots of rock and roll. They sited a long history of the genre on Earth. Scratchy recordings transferred to digital media. The few artifacts of a long dead sound. Instruments that seemed like relics. They couldn't shake the electro-trance sound that had taken hold in Miranda's clubs, and the music that pumped out over the sound system was an odd mesh of old and new.
The stands were packed, and with the thread of violence still looming over the community, security was out in full force. Tokyo Hall with its massive, towering stands was more alive than any other location on the entire planet at that moment. And the night was still young.