Dark rooms filled with vibrating, thumping people. Left foot. Right foot. One foot goes down in front of the other. Free drinks. Guest list. Free list. Murder on the dancefloor. One set two sets. Big gig. I-like-techno-don't-like-disco-give-me-big-beat-underground-Balearic-sounds.
It's all the same, said Dad.
Leftfield. Cow bells, tom toms, bongos, strange smells. Beer heads, fuckheads. Try hard girls in heels and headbands.
I'm fucking bored. My early-20s party girl dream. It should have been filed under 'not as good as I thought it would be' years ago...
'This DJ's seminal. The best thing to happen to the house scene in a decade.'
Right. Why's he playing the same old shit the last guy did then?
And the sky comes down to the ground. Letting go with love.
I'm glad I'm not her. Or here with him. It's then I realise I'm on the toilet. Cos I needed a rest. Reading my text messages from yesterday to feel like it's home - need you...want your head between my legs. A cuddle. Some baked beans.
Things aren't what they used to be. I'd rather be in bed with a good book. Or some friendly banter down the Lion and Lobster, than here with you. With all of you.
It's not that I don't like to party. I just don't like this party. Something's missing. I think it's her. I think it's them. I think it's him.
Ok fair enough. I kind of like this tune.
It's coming in.
I think I'll go home now.