They surged forward, a wave of angles, clashing colours and plunging lines.
Some figures were suited to revealing homemade costumes, some most definitely not. No two getups alike, nor two wigs identical, yet there was a definite unifying theme between them.
And worn with such pride! Such passion! The sort of defiant self-belief required to keep them from appearing laughable. They had it. All of them.
I watched them run from the concert and into the streets, screaming in joy, and the seventeen year old Goth I used to be smiled.
Godspeed, you ladies Gaga. Let your freak flags fly!