Perilous Reading gave me this prompt:
“A high yield, biological weapon has infected the northern hemisphere with Disco Fever.”
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Feeling the funk emanate we shuffled and boogied. Like zombies of the nights on Broadway- arms thrusting moving to the beat. Not knowing where we were going strutting with the love train, and surviving like Donna Summer we had been trapped in this nightlife limbo of lasers and smoke machines.
It was warfare that brought us our night fever. An attack of deadly disco which rained down with upbeat terror in retaliation for America’s use of pedal-steel country in bombing the middle east. The spirit of ‘78 hit our lungs and our arteries. We choked hard on Le Freak, and disco infernos raged in every Funkytown and city. It was a tragedy, but when stayin’ alive was the name of the game, we moved earth, wind, and fire to turn the beat around.
Soon the cloud of syncopated bass and four on the floor beats would give way to a new wave. The groove would steady. The halflife of The Hustle was short, and the DJs packed up their discs.
The war would rage for decades with genres flung. Biological bombs packed with punk punched deep into the ravaged clubs and streets of New York, while Acid Jazz poured from the sky falling on the desserts and cities from Kabul to Kuwait. Elaborate post-modern bombs would cause confusion as the war moved on; IEDs of Nu Metal and Psytrance made the world a darker place.