eyes, bringing thoughts of her from the recesses of my mind to the forefront of my consciousness. She. The face of the Indian princess on the decal of the lighter stared back at me; the text beneath read Indian Myth . It was cheap and stupid. Disposable. My heartbeat began to slow and lights oscillated around me. Elegantly twisting and contorting, smoke trapped in strobes, nicotine surging through my blood. Shakily, I clicked the lighter on and heard the familiar fizzle of ignition accompanied by a brief, beautiful flame. It was illegal to smoke in here but I was surrounded by Marlboro-toting rule-breakers and my alcohol- soaked mind was scarcely in a position to stop me. Standing away from the private booth Tom had acquired near the bar, still dressed in my heavy winter coat, I swayed with a lonely crowd. I didn’t want to be here. II The club orbited around me. Drinks floated out of the darkness and into my hand – cool, perspiring glasses of red and orange liquids with sour aftertastes slipped smoothly down my throat. Strobe lights danced across the ceiling in unison with the humans that danced beneath. Lasers cut through the smoky haze hanging in the stale, dead air. Red bulbs in the strobe lights coated the underground room in ethereal epilepsy, where faces appeared and vanished with frantic, frenetic frequency.My damp shirt clung to me. Pulsating bass and hot air engulfed me. Doors appeared and opened in front of us. Echoes from the rooms behind swam down the corridor, distorted after bouncing off cold concrete. Fragmented lights glittered across the polished veneer floor, snaking towards our feet.The night was turning into
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