Leo stands in the center of the floor, not moving, just letting the rhythm of "Reflections of a Disco Ball" wash over him. The kick drum is a heartbeat; the bassline is the ground he finally feels steady on. Every time Tanya Tiet’s voice swirled through the speakers, the thousands of tiny mirrors above him shattered the light into a billion shards of "could-have-been."
The club is a cathedral of bad decisions and expensive perfume, but beneath the , it feels like a sanctuary. Leo stands in the center of the floor,
He remembers his mother’s laugh—how she used to say he was the "favorite" whenever they danced in the kitchen to old soul records. She loved the light. She loved the way a song could make a cramped apartment feel like a palace. He remembers his mother’s laugh—how she used to
As the dub strips back the vocals to that driving, euphoric groove, Leo closes his eyes. He isn't in a crowded warehouse anymore. He’s back in that kitchen, the sun hitting a beaded curtain and throwing those same diamond patterns across the linoleum. The track isn't just house music; it’s a time machine. As the dub strips back the vocals to