Loudly the bass drums through the room, vibrating in the dancing bodies and getting thrown back by the walls while it causes the glasses filled with alcohol to vibrate.
The club smells like sweat, liquor and … sex.
Humans are gathered, pressed together tightly like animals for slaughter, a few of the people have either taken a break of dancing and now sit on the bar or on the couch, drinking their worries away, while some have not even started to dance at all.
Some, mostly those, that got dragged to the noisy place by their friends without really wanting, are observing the winding bodies.
Sweaty skin, people dancing closely, some women whose faces barely show through their make-up rubbing their asses on some men’s crotches, some men that will be forgotten the next day when they leave their beds to go back to their boyfriends.
Guilt, sin, so much electricity.
When you look around, you can see people smiling, some perhaps have their eyes closed and just let their thoughts flow along with the music – or they are on drugs that are getting sold on the club’s toilet – and some wear masks, cautiously act as if they are enjoying being there, while they actually just want to go back home and stop being the third wheel with their “friends”.
Even though I’ve got to admit that indeed some of them are drunk enough to not have to wear this kind of mask, leaving out those, whose heads are currently hanging in the club’s toilet while they either have got the luck to have sober friends, holding up their hair and making sure that they don’t suffocate on their puke, or well, do not have this luck and choke up their tears along with their breakfast, perhaps passing out with their head still in the toilet bowl.
The best are the men in their business suit though, that just canceled a date with the lie, that they’ve got a meeting, lying because they don’t have the courage to meet a woman with the insecurities they are suffering under, or perhaps because they feel the need to drown the frustration, over not daring to confess that they’re gay, in alcohol.
The strong men with their neckties, which you imagine as the ultimate bosses, dominant lady-killers.
Isn’t it amusing, how they wear masks not in the club but in public?
But what about the women? These, that wear a bright, white teethed smile along with glistening, cherry red lipstick and a short dress, that doesn’t leave you anything to fantasize about. What about these, that go to the club with multiple of their girlfriends, live their perfect life on Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook? Are you surprised that these are actually the ones, that swallow pills because their social anxiety doesn’t let them sleep? That these are the kind of people, that less wash their make-up off with water but tears, because of how much they actually despise themselves?
Such pretty masks they wear in the club, convincing so many men to fall for them and making them being the ones, that break the men’s hearts, all along them being the ones that actually are heartbroken.
What mask do you wear?