Neon Dance Night Sweat

Sloane had been dancing for two hours straight in the warehouse space and needed a moment to breathe—and check her outfit. She stepped into the tiny, tiled bathroom, barely able to see through the neon haze. Pulling out her phone, she used the flash for lighting, not for the photo itself, catching herself mid-grimace as she adjusted her slicked-back hair. The photo is a frantic, authentic record of the peak of the night, sweat and all.