THE GREAT
COALITION
MAYDAY IX

We pulled up to the Festhalle under a snowfall that looked like fairy dust, but the cold died the second we breached the doors. The air inside was a thick soup of 120 decibels and raw pheromones. Helenne had picked me up in her black BMW, driving down the Autobahn like we were outrunning a war.

“For you, the Manchester boy—a white Mitsubishi,” she said in the car park, her smile lit by the orange glow of her cigarette. “And for me, the red Toyota. It is a matter of engineering, Ted.”

These weren’t just pills—they were master keys to the subconscious. By the time Roland Casper dropped the Deep Dish remix of Day By Day, reality was no longer solid.

Midway through Casper’s set, Helenne grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the centre of the floor just as Hardhead’s Demon Dreams tore the speakers apart. “Keep moving, England. In the chaos we are invisible.”

Nine hours later, with Carl Cox destroying the floor with Rollin’ and Scratchin’ by Daft Punk, we realised we weren’t two people anymore. We were part of the Great Coalition.