by Jill Yablonski
posted on Sep. 22, 2008 - 12:11pm
The flesh suit guy is onstage and he's dancing like an invertebrate. Decked out in a cream-colored unitard and thick, black shades, he is the embodiment of this strange scene. The Presets have one more song to play, and the temperature inside the Fine Line is far past boiling. It has the aroma of meat burps and that disease that makes people smell like maple syrup. There is a creepy old man trying to dance on me.