and in the quiet.

Along to the strains of peaches, people are gyrating on the dance floor. What they call “fire dancers” (baton twirlers with light sticks or in some extreme cases, actual flaming batons.) are showing off their skills on the tiny stage. I am in a club, as is almost second nature to others my age, but tonight, I am somewhere I don't belong. It somewhat reminds me of a documentary on animal planet. Everyone here tonight is a wild thing.

I catch snippets of conversations and it seems everyone here speaks normal english, without any ridiculous slang or jargon. I look around for the first time and take the room and it's occupants in. Black paper roses, black balloons, and black ribbons with gold trimmings, the interior seems to be decorated by the same committee that organized the event. Almost everyone here is dressed in black. And not just cocktail black, but elaborate, victorian lace black. More costumes than clothes, these characters who will not remember me tomorrow drift near and drift past, as if sensing an outsider. Almost if they can smell it.

The girl next to me appears as friendly as it gets and I pick my balls off the floor and talk to her. A series of question and curt answers later, I know her name Is Vanique, she is as old as the club is, and she cared not to be bored by my abysmal chattering any longer.

I finally get my coke and drink it as soon as humanly possible, the only thing in mind being the way to the exit.