discotheque
its 3 am on saturday night, well more of a sunday morning and the venue is a popular night-club. the music is chromed, polished and slots like liquid mercury in your brains. the beats per minute keeps increasing until the tempo sears through your mind and your body starts gyrating involuntarily. the strobes are unmerciful with their assualt, painting surreal images on the wet bodies of the dancers. the dj is a god on acid creating an illusion of magic and merry mayhem as he puts a spin on the discs. the heathens bow before idols of bacchus and aphrodite seeking rhapsodies of exquisite pleasure.
the lights and the sound work in tandem to obliterate thought, burning soberiety to a cinder. teen spirits wearing beguiling charms and taut smooth skins soaked in a mixture of sweat and manufactured pheromones seducing each other languidly. the atmosphere is orgasmic, the nymphs and the knights forget the mundaneness of their existence to flee to a theater where the script reads of freedom, rapture and infinite amusement.
awake the next morning with a stranger in bed soon to be a friend or a friend soon be abandoned as a stranger. head pounding, tongue dry as sandpaper, feeling like a freshly squeezed sponge and having the whole of sunday to entertain the hang over.
amen to teenage debauchery and decadence.