THAT EXIT


For about two years I walked around with panda eyes, they all laugh at such an abrupt statement, and so did she, even though, it was true and it had taken a long while for it to be fun, at last; sharing drinks in this fancy hotel where, apparently, Madonna often stays, second fun-fact of the day. As the content in their glasses leveled down quite evenly and synchronized, they continued to reminiscent past love affairs, the ones that no more hurt, of course, so they could gracefully deal with actual current events. All of them, three, of the intense kind, love fully, get high, fall hard. Nightlife represented on its best. Flavours, colours, sounds and sweat, sweet dancefloor sweat. As almost always, the day will gradually aim towards that three floors venue by free love blessed and by collective ecstasy connected, filled with rebel hearts and freedom of the mind. Techno beats spread through a crowd infused with intimate possibilities, all of us sellers and buyers in this meat market of the tolerant and humane kind. Up the stairs and above this all, an optional exit, entertainment and attraction for the consenting and curious adult. Discretion underlined while trespassing its doors, imposed by the lack of light and inability to distinguish all parties involved. She has never dared to go as far up and into that passage. There are things she has yet not seen, though, secretly she wonders how far she will be willing to venture, wondering about all these places and arranged events she has heard of but never dared to. The bottle of beer handed to her by these friends now back from the world above, brings her back from wonderland. The music here is too inviting to not to give in, together they swing their way into the dancing scene where different outcomes to this night lay out, on a Tuesday while the twilight outside wakes up Amsterdam and its romantic canals, its loud singing birds and its green and flower coveted squares, parks and roads.

That exit. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts. The book.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: