Frequent

I smell like smoke and liquor. I try to see through the fog and neon lights that flash in time to the hard music but my head throbs too hard, I can't concentrate. I can almost feel my pulse in tune to the thumping of the music. Streaks of light cut through the mist and into faces of things that used to be human. I stumble my way through the human heat radiating off these things, the kind of heat that only comes from a large number of people in one compact room. I don’t really remember what or who I am looking for. I’m just walking, or trying to walk through this mass of human bodies that move in line with the sound only to realize that I’m not walking, but being led by. I search for my hand that is connected to someone else’s arm and they are guiding me through this dense confusion. I feel nauseated and I hope this person is taking me some where I can relive myself. Out. A door. Some exit. Look for a way out. I can’t see anything except pretty colors and darkness.  He turns and smiles at me encouraging. “Come on, we’re almost out.” Good. Let’s go. There is a corridor. It’s still dark but cooler. A breath of air was what I needed. I feel better already. I run my fingers through my hair. It’s a mess. But it smells good. Really good. I love that smell of expensive DunHill. I taste liquor on his tongue. He tastes it on my neck too, I bet. He’s heating up again. I hear myself breathe faster too. I can’t help it. I like it. I can’t remember his name, but I can tell he does too.