#4 My lungs heave out a cloud of shivery breath; it hangs briefly in the air then clouds my glasses.  I mutter a gentle curse but the chill harpoons a caried tooth.  I slam my jaw shut and take the beating for a few seconds, then snort some air in through my shuddering nostrils and think to myself, I might put on another bar of the electric fire.

#5 At about 1am I snapped out of my psychedelic blur.  A moment ago I’d been lost and happy in the pulsating turquoise room, heart-held by the pounding rhythms, bedazzled and giddied by mirror balls.  The lingering vanilla and primeval female hormones had freed me to touch and be touched.  I looked across the smiling sea of faces – some choppy, gurning; some pacific and eyes closed.  100 or so dancers lost in a shared feeling, sympathetic hand gestures and embracing with a warm glowing energy.  I knew that somewhere beneath those dancing, slithering, stomping feet were my glasses.
CrookedMan CrookedMan
Jan 31, 2012