It was around 7:15 on a recent Tuesday morning when I realized, arms linked through his and lying, face up, on his back, that I had known this man — his name was Dijon, and he was wearing leggings — for only 10 minutes. We were in the middle of a partner yoga session at one of the San Francisco editions of Daybreaker, an early-morning dance party that descends, every month, on an increasing number of cities around the world.

There wasn’t much time for reflection. A massage train was forming in the center of the increasingly brightening Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. People rubbed shoulders and had their shoulders rubbed. “You’re a good masseuse, man,” a shirtless guy in Aztec-print swim trunks said to the dude in front of him, whose shoulder-length hair shook back and forth as he dug in.

Stretched and soothed, the crowd dispersed for coffee and acai bowls in a lobby that recalled the entrance to a high school gym. “It’s not going to get full blown for a little while,” said Marc Rochman, 39, a Daybreaker veteran who woke up at 5:45. “The other one I went to was on a boat.”

But soon, revelers were thronging the coat check, shrugging off backpacks saddled with MacBooks and reusable water bottles. House music thumped from the main room, and near the D.J., Teresa Young, 27 and rocking Sasquatch-esque furry boots, formed a circle with 10 of her friends.