Night Club

Club nocturnal In Bilbao, on a warm evening, he walked past a nightclub walked in and had a beer; he could have gone to a Guggenheim Museum and be culturally minded, absorb and mention it later in a passing conversation, “the other day at the Guggenheim.” At the club, a group of people sat drinking affluent bubbly wine, thinking it was champagne, the group laughed a lot and apparently had a fine time, although, he thought they were a bit frenzied about the fun The people around the table didn’t look prosperous and the women looked like office tarts, with too much lipstick and mascara, flashing eyes and giggles. He knew (had been there) that the one footing the bill would feel dreadful in the morning, sensing the futility an ice cap on sagging shoulders of hopelessness. No, it was not the drinking, real drinkers do not frequent nightclubs, but drinking at modest places, was about feeling swanky a man about town. He paid for his beer and complained about the price the waiter pointed to a pricelist hanging high on a wall, so there! Along the boulevard, he bought newspapers went to a café, had some wine and spent hours enjoying himself.