With its big tent sound and funhouse feel, Miami’s club Space has always been a circus—and never more so than when host Flavio Nisti serves it up as ringleader for the night ahead. This year’s version of White Party week’s White Dreams was akin to Cirque de Soleil on a Miami vacation—with every sort of contortion and configuration on show before night’s end.

Up in the booth was DJ visionary Kidd Madonny working a mash-up of Axwell’s “Counting Down the Days” with Rihanna’s “Please Don’t Stop the Music,” before segueing into Alan T.’s “Whateva,” a paean to campy compliancy, which invariably releases the latent Harlem drag ball persona lurking within every gay boy.

As both the man in the booth—and the man above the floor, the genius of décor, Kidd worked his own runway beneath a ceiling of upturned transparent umbrellas—a gentle reminder of our own perspective on an upside-down world.

Seen dancing on their asses were the entire traveling circuit sideshow, including Karen and Michelle, Parz and August, Hilton and Mel, Chad and Leo (with their porno posse), Chris Clark, Kyle Garner and Pancho, Tod and Gorm, Rick Siclari and Chris Donahue, Chyna—as well as a full house of beauteous boyz from up and down the seaboard.

The truth was, Miami was looking better than eva—well, make that, Miami boyz were looking better than eva— Take Omar Gonzalez, for example, and bf Bene: you couldn’t find better poster boyz for making a permanent investment in Miami Beach. To see those two was to read a billboard that read: Move here and you, too, could be this happy.

And that other couple, too: a pair of lovebirds, so giddy, so slap-happy, you might have imagined that all wars had ceased and world hunger ended—and the Garden of Eden had reopened its gates. That’s the kind of night it was: punch-drunk and swimming in happiness.

Perhaps it was the music. The combo of Kidd—and the headliners, Chus & Ceballos, whose arrival was greeted with cacophonous applause. It was an outpouring of pleasure: for Kidd who’d brought us to this point—and for Chus & Ceballos for driving us on through the night.

What a pair! What a couple of Iberian party hounds. They turned their booth into an Iberian sandbox for the musically inclined. Booze and the boyz, shots and beers—and everyone dancing like it was Ibiza in August. And what they did with something like “I Got You” which segued into “Extra special,” with its refrain “You’re extra special”—well, it went something like this. It started in the booth—like telephone tag: “You’re extra special”—pass it on—and around the room it went: “You’re extra special,” building in volume, increasing in speed, adding one voice after another—“You’re extra special”—until gradually, all around the packed floor, everyone was feeling it: feeling extra special, and thereby erasing any lingering doubt about the specialness of oneself. All of us as extra special, all of us stomping and cheering, hands in the air: “You’re extra special.” Extra special—orgasmic release.

All this—and a bag of chips, for it was only Friday night—with the rest of White Party 25 still ahead.