Nuit Blanche, Matin de lit de Danse.

It was World War III, herding us into underground tunnels like a factory farming nightmare. Only there were no guns and bombs just roadies and moms. 
As if the ball has dropped months too late. 
Montreal out in droves for Nuit Blanche, our only time a year we get to booze it for all night metros, free shuttles, and unlimited access to every medium of art your mind may or may not remember.
A palette of acid kids, cell block families, vocal tourists, and the dance party arctic fevers to keep us company.
Alas, here the only evidence that i've made it out alive, and you stylized a way to see your breath...