I was pretty drunk last night. Then again, I drink every night. What's a few bottles more for my liver to detoxify? Sigh. There are things we do to keep ourselves believing that there is a point in living. It was a different night last night. I took ten drugs, of the same family, of the same size, of the same value. The cup of McDonald's coffee quenched the bland taste.
5 minutes onward, I felt no reaction to the drug.
10 minutes later, I was just sipping coffee and listening to Kanye West.
20 minutes later, I was laughing at my friend. He seemingly enjoyed talking about the new love of his life. If he's lucky, he can have 50 years in jail for statutory rape.
After 30 minutes, I felt so light. It was like walking while carrying the world on your shoulder, but seemed like I only had my iPod with headphones blaring. The jokes were lame but I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. It was a cold night, but it felt warm inside. Indeed, it was pleasurable.
I was strolling in an alley, the feeling made my thoughts float to somewhere else. I walked my friends to their lair. It was too early to go home. It was sleepy yet, I was still in the mood for a party. I thought about getting some more of those tiny thing from whence the happy feeling came. I can do that some other time.
Soon, I found myself in a club with men, twentys, thirtys, fortys, and fiftys. Their eyes were locked on the creature that was before us. I couldn't help but wonder what they were thinking. I fixed my eyes on other things. There was a man sitting in a table behind my chair. His arms were wrapped around a girl. He was a bachelor, I think. Like all the men in the room, his eyes were fixed on the stage. His hands were not at ease, though. All ten of his digits could not keep crawling back and forth the exposed thighs of the girl sitting next to him. She was young, pearl skin, with clothing that barely covered her. The room was dark and cool air surround the room, apart from the smoke in my cigarette. At least the man's hand could provide warmth to her body.
I lit another cigarette and blew the smoke towards my right. It was only then that I noticed a man sitting three chairs from me. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. His eyes steadily watching the femme on the stage. Her breasts were exposed, a shawl covered her femininity. She was moving with the beat, ever so slowly. She looked at her reflection in the mirrors that hung on the walls of the room. She stared at her face for some time and glanced at the people below. Someone threw a piece of paper on the stage. She picked it up, allowing a glance of her uncovered bottom. She removed the sheath of cloth covering her bottom. She was grinding to the tune. Her beautiful hair danced to rhythm of her body. Then the music stopped.
I had a bottle of beer and six cigarette butts filled the ashtray. A waiter came up to us with the bill and we left hurriedly. It had been a long night. I was sober and the effect of tiredness came over me. I was sleepy. On our way home, I thought about the girls who serviced the men there. How much do they earn? What do you gain other than cold cash? Why choose such a profession?Things could have been better for those girls. Then again, not everyone who works there could be taken home. And, there are reasons why they do what they do. I admire them for the courage to dance in a stage with a bunch of drunk men as their audience. Even more, to live in a society who will not accept their profession.
That was a my night out on the town and now, the bed is calling my name.
5 minutes onward, I felt no reaction to the drug.
10 minutes later, I was just sipping coffee and listening to Kanye West.
20 minutes later, I was laughing at my friend. He seemingly enjoyed talking about the new love of his life. If he's lucky, he can have 50 years in jail for statutory rape.
After 30 minutes, I felt so light. It was like walking while carrying the world on your shoulder, but seemed like I only had my iPod with headphones blaring. The jokes were lame but I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. It was a cold night, but it felt warm inside. Indeed, it was pleasurable.
I was strolling in an alley, the feeling made my thoughts float to somewhere else. I walked my friends to their lair. It was too early to go home. It was sleepy yet, I was still in the mood for a party. I thought about getting some more of those tiny thing from whence the happy feeling came. I can do that some other time.
Soon, I found myself in a club with men, twentys, thirtys, fortys, and fiftys. Their eyes were locked on the creature that was before us. I couldn't help but wonder what they were thinking. I fixed my eyes on other things. There was a man sitting in a table behind my chair. His arms were wrapped around a girl. He was a bachelor, I think. Like all the men in the room, his eyes were fixed on the stage. His hands were not at ease, though. All ten of his digits could not keep crawling back and forth the exposed thighs of the girl sitting next to him. She was young, pearl skin, with clothing that barely covered her. The room was dark and cool air surround the room, apart from the smoke in my cigarette. At least the man's hand could provide warmth to her body.
I lit another cigarette and blew the smoke towards my right. It was only then that I noticed a man sitting three chairs from me. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. His eyes steadily watching the femme on the stage. Her breasts were exposed, a shawl covered her femininity. She was moving with the beat, ever so slowly. She looked at her reflection in the mirrors that hung on the walls of the room. She stared at her face for some time and glanced at the people below. Someone threw a piece of paper on the stage. She picked it up, allowing a glance of her uncovered bottom. She removed the sheath of cloth covering her bottom. She was grinding to the tune. Her beautiful hair danced to rhythm of her body. Then the music stopped.
I had a bottle of beer and six cigarette butts filled the ashtray. A waiter came up to us with the bill and we left hurriedly. It had been a long night. I was sober and the effect of tiredness came over me. I was sleepy. On our way home, I thought about the girls who serviced the men there. How much do they earn? What do you gain other than cold cash? Why choose such a profession?Things could have been better for those girls. Then again, not everyone who works there could be taken home. And, there are reasons why they do what they do. I admire them for the courage to dance in a stage with a bunch of drunk men as their audience. Even more, to live in a society who will not accept their profession.
That was a my night out on the town and now, the bed is calling my name.
