The night began in a sleepy hollow of closed eyes and naps. A hard day, work, friends, and strangers. Guitar strings play in tuning songs, mopey blues lay flat on couch cushions. Humidity beads over confined space during a time of waiting.
Traveling tires cruise over hot pavement, to a new dive. Live music stings ears in off-key tunes while rumbling hunger awaits piled plates of bun-less burgers and fries.
When the clock strikes, the party begins. Laughter and grins cascade over a flowered cake in celebration. Booze overflows steins and bottles, ninety nine has taken over. Honey drips in a constant streak of attention, the room is owned. Text flows through fingers in comfortable conversation, with unseen friends. Flashing photos spark in the night air capturing a million memories, possibly to be later regretted.
Neon lights dance across checkered floors, while sweaty bodies move, grinding against strange skin. A party of the mind, body, and soul. Shooting shots with strangers, in glowing orange lace. Laughter floats through the smoke filled room lined with pool tables and chalk. Mingling in a large group, against blinded windows and high tables, there he is. Smiling across a sea of movement, I am found.
What was thought to be, is not what is. Just an object, mere entertainment of a ragged being; sought out just to be ignored. Brought forth to a new world, just to burn in a stinging mist. Last call, the party is over. Crowds of heated people fumble, staggering toward the exit; wide and welcoming. For some, the night has just begun, yet, for others it was over long ago.
Flying over dark streets, lit by dim street lamps and headlights, the seconds pass. The night turns into early morning, while restless feet attempt to remain seated. Anticipating the end, unknowingly accepting defeat with a hug and a friendly tap on the back.
All that is left, a memory marked in time . . . the neon glow of orange lace.