Sweet and Sour

Rigid, sitting in a dimly lit stool. a thick hazy fog lingers and circles hundreds of bodies. barely visible as they gyrate and mingle in a mess of frenzy. the ominous thump of the deepest bass repeating, repeating. coming, leaving, repeating again. fueling the crazed thrusts, keeping time with the wild sexual pendulum of youth. bitter ale in hand, I decend into the street. the cobblestones seem sweet and sour underneath. the bottle defies itself, floating before meeting its oblivion. suddenly, anywhere but here seems too far. and then the horizon wins again, undefeated. the wind - I can hear a muffled wave of sound. and as I emerge once again at my shady perch, slumping into myself, it is as if I had never left. bodies tangle in abandon - rythmic in their sex, late into the night.