zhinesade's surreal world

everything about nothing

Friday, May 21, 2004

irony of a club

She was drunk. He was not. She had far too many Red Horse beers. Much more than she ever drank in one night before.
The club was crowded. She was dizzy and hot.She decided to sit down and stretch her legs out on the couch that she and her friends had claimed for the night. They were lucky they were friends with the waiter. He saved them a spot because he knew they'd be here tonight.
Her 2 friends went to the bathroom. They needed to freshen up before they all went back to dancing the night away. She didn't care to go. She was too drunk.
She was trying to keep her eyes open. But she couldn't see much. Two guys who were facing the other direction were blocking her view of the dancefloor.
As if sensing her stare, one of the guys looked around, and said something. She signaled that she couldn't hear him. It was the music. Too loud. And the buzz in her head was making it hard to concentrate.
'May I sit here,' he asked again. She could smell him. Unlike this whole place which smelled of sweating bodies, he smelled like a fresh bath and CK1. She nodded her head and looked away. He was not good-looking at all.
Yech, she thought to herself. She smiled. As if she was any better to look at tonight.
Her friends came back. And they snuck in between them (the guy was now talking animatedly to his friend who was looking at her). And they went back to dancing.
A bottle of Red Horse later, she was sitting beside the guy. And he was asking her for her number.
She laughed. She was impressed because he had grace. But it was also very funny because she'd be leaving the country in less than a month. And he was not her type. But he spoke in clear english in a low tone that made her think he was the most sincere person in the room. Or maybe it was the beer. She decided to just continue to let loose and dance the night away.
She came into the club, thinking she was invisible and as thin as air. She got out of there with a glimmer of hope in the invincible something.
And, outside the club, he looked a bit more attractive than she gave him credit for. And he still smelled good.
That was a start.