Amsterdam doesn’t sleep. She collapses—ecstatic, buzzing, face glitter smudged onto club bathroom mirrors—and then she exhales. The day after Dekmantel, Upclose, or whatever sweat-drenched warehouse swallowed you whole, there’s a sacred pause. This isn’t about just “wellness.” This is about ritual, decay, and reassembly. Places where the noise goes out of your bones. Let your serotonin drip dry. You’ve earned this.
