Saturday night at the club. Music too loud to hear myself think. I think this is the ninth cocktail in my hands. should go for some cocaine next.
I stand on my perch, looking into the crowd. Disco lights highlighting wild faces.
It's easy to differentiate the desperate singles from the non-committed and the unavailibles.
The desperates look here and there, eying for prey with sharp eyes.
rubbing against each other, the static friction inviting others to join in between.
I look over from my perch, and gently a smile comes over my face.
It's hunting time.
No comments:
Post a Comment