‘Nightclubbing’ by Jen Hughes

The sky is black. I walk down a poorly lit alley and up some stairs. The stairwell walls have black-marker graffiti all over them, like the apartment block time forgot. At the top, there’s a vast room with snooker tables arranged across a faded green carpet. I am greeted by a plush-like bouncer and deafening club music. Thunk, thunk, thunk. It sounds alien. The smoke makes it difficult to see anything. I am unsure whether it’s cigarettes or a smoke machine. A DJ hollering “LET’S MAKE SOME FUCKING NOISE” indicates that there must be a dance-floor somewhere. It’s crammed up the back of the room, the people are sardines. Celebrate, for tomorrow is a rest day, right? The men hang around at the sides, the women are dancing like strippers. Two middle-aged women are grinding against each other in a bid to gain male attention. I cannot dance like this. I am not dressed like this. I am far from home. I might as well have fallen from outer space. I just want to dance but the music is jarring. This place is like a cattle market, or a place of primitive rituals I can’t take part in. I’m an anthropologist at heart, aren’t I? I almost wish I had worn something shorter or seethru so as to blend in. Shit, one could probably fuck one’s two sisters anally right where I’m standing and nobody would care. For all I know, someone probably is. A wizened old man is letching on me. I think it’s time to go home.

Copyright 2016 by Jen Hughes. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

Featured Image By Nina Soto

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