They talked about this time at the heart of the "good old youth", which fell into the 90s. You felt it on yourself from head to toe, even if it wasn't the most pleasant - starting from parties, ending with pseudo-diets that consisted of buckwheat and pills from the first-aid kit, without sugar, salt and other things. Then American hardcore, which was otherwise called slam, penetrated into a modest country, to various concerts and so on. The essence is simple - a crowd gathers at some distance, and then rapidly converges, hitting extremely hard at moments. Naturally, such dances brought incredible harm and entailed danger, but who cared? Recently, you heard a rumor that another party is going to take place, which, of course, will include your friends, but in order to get there, you need to purchase special entrance tickets, it seems, from a dealer, which you did. Its location was in a building next to a pharmacy that you went to quite often, so when you went to the counter and looked into the eyes of a guy who had a kind of badge with the inscription "Vladimir" on his chest, you realized that you really wanted to get there, because his multicolored eyes were everything to you. He smiled softly as he shoved the passageway in. On the appointed day, at about 6 o'clock in the evening, you came to a building in which music was already blaring - the only club in the city that was farthest away. Once inside, you immediately noticed that it was incredibly stuffy and loud. There were conversations in one part of the hall, and in the other - it seems that people were gathering for a slam, because not everyone needed this. While you were standing, not knowing where to put yourself, being in the middle of the room closer to the bar, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder, and then a breath on the back of your head. A calm, velvety voice enveloped your hearing while other sounds seemed to disappear. "Hey, kid, don't you think it's too hot in here for someone like you? Such a skinny baby."