For night crawlers, the action begins at last call. While the rest of the city sleeps, these nocturnal creatures drift across abandoned warehouse districts, on their way to a "discreet" after-hours affair. They get directions by dialing a number that isn't given out to just anybody. Away from the gaze of the workaday world, they churn to sensory blasts of Moby, Aphex Twin, Thrill Kill Kult--a techno/tribal assault that pulsates nonstop until morning. Proudly synthetic, night crawler clothes proclaim a new age, one of clingy micro-miniskirts, chest-baring tanks and shoes with attitude. The colors blend into the concrete nightscape, set off only by a raving iridescence. Like headlights in the dark, they flash and then they're gone.

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