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Despite a dainty and delicate veneer, Gabbi Garcia charges on with surprising truths that from this point on will no longer go unmissed. If our calculations were to be trusted, it was safe to assume that the population packed in the middle of the dance floor just a few hours earlier, presumably giving their all to the soundtrack of the night’s heavy bass and synth beat-induced reverie were still reeling from the euphoria and hangover. And yet there we were, on a calm Sunday afternoon, right smack in the center of one of the metro’s hottest clubs, the futuristic-themed Xylo, with its cutting-edge display of lights hovering over in a rhythmic dance of neon, replete of any trace of a night before. “The club scene isn’t really my thing,” she says in a lingering breath, hands crossed on top of the undulating waves of fabric that sat on her lap. […]
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