Thoughts of a dirty young man. Part 2:
As I stood in front of the urinal, relieving myself of pressure from my bladder, I heard noises coming from the booth behind me. Snorting noises. I zipped my pants, wiped my fingers, and was about to leave when a guy opened the booth door. "Hey man." He said. He was clearly coked out. He was sweating like a fat man in a McDonald's drive thru and his eyes were all over the place. "Hey." I said. He walked in close to me, looked me dead in the eyes. "Wanna try some coke?" I kinda stared at him for a moment, not sure if he was serious. But finally, I said, "sure."
It was something, the coke. I hadn't ever tried any other drugs than weed in my nineteen years of life, and this was certainly different. For one, I felt good. Like, I was being cuddled by fifteen thousand cute puppies at once. Secondly, everything was clear. All sounds were clear, my head was clear, I saw the world in a new light.
I left the bathroom with a huge smile on my face, ear to ear. I couldn't stop looking around, taking in everything around me. But the smile faded when a familiar hand was on my thigh. Samantha had stood outside the men's bathroom and waited for me.
I tried to tell Samantha that I didn't dance, but she somehow managed to guide me to the dance floor and actually made me dance. I like to think it was the cocaine that was to blame. We danced for a while. I don't remember how long exactly, because it felt like it was over in two minutes, but I know we danced to several songs. She dragged me to a bedroom upstairs, away from the party. The first one she tried was occupied. Two men having a good time polishing each other's stripping poles. The second one was empty.
The cocaine actually made her look better, or me more tolerable, and when she began undressing, I was ready for getting down to business. Only, as soon as I dropped my pants, someone burst open the door. "PETER!"