chandler
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 14, 2004
- Messages
- 712
Second thing I've tried to write. No editing, just as it came out of my head, so excuse any mistakes...
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I staggered into the bathrooms, with that trademark swagger, drunkenness interjected with a little uppity. The immediacy of a distinct lack of testosterone hit hard. Female toilets... Fuck it. Was I that gone already? I gently kicked the first available cubicle open, leaving my hands free to knead my pockets for salvation. Beneath the faint but audible thump of the music, and ear piercing shits and giggles emanating from the washbasin, all was quiet. That sinking feeling when I found it was overbearing. Fuck it. No point trying to make this last. In a manner of moments, I was calm, and the environment was negligable. I could have been inside the toilet and it’d all be the same.
I flushed the toilet, as though there was anyone present who didn’t actually know what I was up to. I began the happy shuffle back into the main room, feeling my heart rise in my chest as the music got louder. Glancing across at my chuckling friends, I placed my hand towards my mouth, gesturing to see if anyone wanted something from the bar. Pushing through the throngs of people, the irritability began to override the distinct feeling of wellbeing that was there three minutes ago. I placed more than enough money in his hand and walked away. Garishly stumbling back towards the group, I started to question my presence. Why the hell was I even here? Sometime, many months ago, I’d gotten decidedly tired of this scene. By now, the realization that I’d run out of cocaine had really started to set in, so I decided to focus my futile attempts at meaningful consideration towards something far more productive. Getting drunk…
We strutted purposefully towards the DJ, while I scanned the floor for anything half-decent that didn’t look taken. My eyes crossed a cute blonde, maybe five-nine, well dressed, with that oh-so-fucking-typical-hands-in-the-air-hips-shaking going on. I reconsidered my initial assumption. She looked a little too clean. Too nice. Good luck getting her to blow me in the toilets. My glance then drifted to a brunette. Short. Black jeans. Chaotic hair. I drifted slowly into her general vicinity, necking the last of my beer and placing it on the table. Ideally, I would have been slightly less ‘present’, but I was well enough gone for the situation. Moving in, I smiled at her and tilted my head slightly. Probably noticing a kindred spirit – equally wasted, unable to justify being there in any tangible terms, she reciprocated. It didn't take me long to realise I didn't have it in me. It probably could have been mine. But then I'd have to deal with the inevitable awkward conversation, misheard words beneath the noise, token fucking questions. Before I even had a chance to try and fail, I walked away. Back to some friends.
Fuck the friends. Back to the bar. A shot and a beer. Wincing as I downed the vodka, I hastily chased it with the beer. Less than a few metres away from the bar, I decided to turn around, realizing my beer was nearly empty. Looking back at the bar, I reconsidered my priorities. Spend a few more hours here pouring money down my throat and hoping I run into someone who’ll sell me something else? Aimlessly making eyes with girls on the off chance I manage to get off in a cubicle? Fuck it.
Out the door. Down the stairs. Thank the door staff. Why the hell does anyone even do that? I wandered down another nameless, faceless laneway into the night. I knew it was freezing, but it didn’t bother me. Lighting a cigarette, I paused, momentarily. Despite the vacuous sensation occupying my skewed perception, I’d be back. What else is there to do? Rinse and repeat…
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Any thoughts would be great... :D
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I staggered into the bathrooms, with that trademark swagger, drunkenness interjected with a little uppity. The immediacy of a distinct lack of testosterone hit hard. Female toilets... Fuck it. Was I that gone already? I gently kicked the first available cubicle open, leaving my hands free to knead my pockets for salvation. Beneath the faint but audible thump of the music, and ear piercing shits and giggles emanating from the washbasin, all was quiet. That sinking feeling when I found it was overbearing. Fuck it. No point trying to make this last. In a manner of moments, I was calm, and the environment was negligable. I could have been inside the toilet and it’d all be the same.
I flushed the toilet, as though there was anyone present who didn’t actually know what I was up to. I began the happy shuffle back into the main room, feeling my heart rise in my chest as the music got louder. Glancing across at my chuckling friends, I placed my hand towards my mouth, gesturing to see if anyone wanted something from the bar. Pushing through the throngs of people, the irritability began to override the distinct feeling of wellbeing that was there three minutes ago. I placed more than enough money in his hand and walked away. Garishly stumbling back towards the group, I started to question my presence. Why the hell was I even here? Sometime, many months ago, I’d gotten decidedly tired of this scene. By now, the realization that I’d run out of cocaine had really started to set in, so I decided to focus my futile attempts at meaningful consideration towards something far more productive. Getting drunk…
We strutted purposefully towards the DJ, while I scanned the floor for anything half-decent that didn’t look taken. My eyes crossed a cute blonde, maybe five-nine, well dressed, with that oh-so-fucking-typical-hands-in-the-air-hips-shaking going on. I reconsidered my initial assumption. She looked a little too clean. Too nice. Good luck getting her to blow me in the toilets. My glance then drifted to a brunette. Short. Black jeans. Chaotic hair. I drifted slowly into her general vicinity, necking the last of my beer and placing it on the table. Ideally, I would have been slightly less ‘present’, but I was well enough gone for the situation. Moving in, I smiled at her and tilted my head slightly. Probably noticing a kindred spirit – equally wasted, unable to justify being there in any tangible terms, she reciprocated. It didn't take me long to realise I didn't have it in me. It probably could have been mine. But then I'd have to deal with the inevitable awkward conversation, misheard words beneath the noise, token fucking questions. Before I even had a chance to try and fail, I walked away. Back to some friends.
Fuck the friends. Back to the bar. A shot and a beer. Wincing as I downed the vodka, I hastily chased it with the beer. Less than a few metres away from the bar, I decided to turn around, realizing my beer was nearly empty. Looking back at the bar, I reconsidered my priorities. Spend a few more hours here pouring money down my throat and hoping I run into someone who’ll sell me something else? Aimlessly making eyes with girls on the off chance I manage to get off in a cubicle? Fuck it.
Out the door. Down the stairs. Thank the door staff. Why the hell does anyone even do that? I wandered down another nameless, faceless laneway into the night. I knew it was freezing, but it didn’t bother me. Lighting a cigarette, I paused, momentarily. Despite the vacuous sensation occupying my skewed perception, I’d be back. What else is there to do? Rinse and repeat…
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Any thoughts would be great... :D
