Danielle Dayney

It was day three of Movement, and everything was upside down.

The crowd around her was a sweaty, bulging mess; moving in rhythm, but somehow each at his own pace.  As the music charged through her soul, the bass vibrated her chest and sent shivers down her tattooed back, racing to reach her toes.  Her short black hair was wet and matted to her forehead as beads of sweat dripped down her cheeks bringing smudgy eyeliner along for the ride.  Her eyes closed tightly, and the music intensified, nearly bringing her to her knees.

In that moment, she was electric.

Photo Courtesy of Resident Advisory