Eye Contact and the Modern Dance Floor

There isn’t enough for me to drink here – and my luck is no longer on tap. I have yet to locate what I need and tonight will be no different. My best hope is only the purest of longing – it’s all that remains …

… of contact, however brief and disconnected, distorted under the pulses of light, and between the throbbing of my temples …
Other issues throb, but I suspect this is nothing more than genetics, the history of physiological man, and a hangover that’s begun before I have even laid waste.

All numbers in the bar are for me; I can get any sequence, or none at all – I do know I will be here to dance to this track on repeat once more.

Fuck.

Closing time is hours away and I’ve already heard this song twice.
As I make my way back to the bar, I see her – and we never speak,
we only move, and
glance to each other with lens unfocused,
just a hint to acknowledge presence –
those around us unclear of our direction, of course they are –
they use voices to speak … she and I communicate wordlessly .…
the beat changes and she sighs a quiet thank you before slipping back into the circuit …

And I know I will make no additional eye contact in here tonight, or out there … and the modern dance floor is no longer an ally ....