We walked into the house in silence, being abruptly greeted by blaring music, obviously nearby. Sure enough, the moment I turned my head I saw a small little stage area about twenty feet away, three guys pounding on their instruments and screeching into their microphones about Lord-knows-what. "C’mon," Rose shouted into my ear, pulling me by the arm over to the crowd of people next to the stage. She pushed us through the sweaty, bobbing people until I found us right at the front, so close I could see a bead of sweat falling down the lead singer’s cheek and onto his washed out Def Leppard t-shirt. Rose was already jumping around with her arms in the air beside me, her little mini jean skirt dangerously riding up her thighs. I played along, swaying my hips side to side and nodding my head to the rhythm of the drums, feeling more free and alive as the seconds ticked along. "Here!" I looked over at Rose to see her holding out a cup of something towards me, idetical to her own in her other hand. "Where’d you get that?" I yelled at her, wondering if she’d left my side while I’d been in my own little world. "Some guy gave them to me." She shrugged, taking a swig and swallowing with a sour look on her face. She shuddered, taking another gulp. I took a small sip, the liquid burning the back of my throat. I wiped my lips off and took another, forcing the substance down despite the sour taste. I turned back to the band, just in time to see them finish their set with the breaking of <b>…</b>
The Sweaty Palm Program. Top product, High conversions