-attempting to eat garlic mash potatoes after eating garlic bread and cheese at home leving a bad taste in my mouth.
Worrying about my breath -Fearing for a lineup at just after 10 and being the 6th customer in the place -drinking Keiths’ and socializing, sitting on barstools, waiting for the show -Recognizing ‘Time after Time’ 3 bars in during the warm-up set -Wondering how that tube top stays on that girl -not ever having gotten flip-flops, watching incredulously as not one but 3 seperate people enter wearing them. -imagining names for bars, as odd pairings as possible: the kleenex and the pteradactyl, etc. -hitting the beer wall, far earlier than before -wishing Mr.
Howells would hurry up and get on already -Surprise that he simply cuts the track, rather than mixing into the existing song. -feeling the groove, getting on the floor. -getting off the floor, feeling winded, drunk, thirsty and fat;feeling sorry for oneself. -drinking water, going pee listening to a man jerk off in the stall beside me. -sitting, bouncing to the beat, waiting for my puff. -getting up on the floor, doing my thing. -wishing this set had knocked me on my ass, happy it’s nearly that good -Bliss:I’m not fat, I’m not broke, I’m not tired, I’m not sick, I’m not stressed, I am all alone, caressed, loved by the music that surrounds me -knowing, innately, what’s coming next in the mix -Realizing probably an hour or so has just passed, and everything is alright -Realizing I’m still in the zone, and can keep going for hours now, no matter what’s thrown at me -saying goodbye to friends, still dancing -feeling guilty for dance-floor flatulence, feeling better knowing I can’t smell worse than the bearded guy to my left -wondering how the hell that girl expects to dance in that mini-skirt and stiletto heels -laughing inwardly as every move hikes the skirt above the panty line; the vain attempts to keep it down;the dejected leaving of the dance floor -watching those there for other reasons than to dance leaving the floor, perhaps paired up, perhaps not, but not relevant -That special feeling of tiredness knowing that if I stop, I’ll never start again, but there’s no need to stop -clapping, hooting, hollering, appreciating the set for what it was as he blows us kisses, ending it -cheering as an encore starts up, only now feeling the 10 lbs of sweat I’m probably now wearing -leaving during the encore, feeling unlike I have in ages, not missing a thing -walking home with Day, shooting the shit -waiting in line at Tim Horton’s; leaving when we’re next because it took so long -a nice hot shower to clean up; feeling wired on andrenaline -water & peanut-butter on bread, chilling out and cooling down - making us of Back to Mine as it was meant to be. à demain, mes amis.