Night Out

Its Saturday night and my crocks and untamed afro stand in marked contrast to the heels and hairdos adorned by those surrounding this high street bus stop.
My mind flashes back to a similar scene of a girl in a black dress and red heels just the night before.

I suddenly recall noticing the sympathy she exuded observing those who chose to respond to the music's insistence that he no want no boring whine. I see her wondering under whose authority the revellers were claiming to be blessed, and in whom and to whom they were promising to hope and pray.

She watched silently as individuals willingly obedient to the influence of the drink she had only earlier consumed migraine skanked, dropped down low, and whined 'pon a profane word like a bicycle. 

She reminisced being struck with the realisation that she had paid money to enter a dark, hot, room where smelly smoke was pumped into your face, the music constantly degraded you to an object to be ogled, bent over and rubbed up against, and the company was less than desirable. She had paid to be subjected to unwanted attention, advances, and physical contact. 

I snapped back to the present and looked around at those at that bus stop wondering how many would end the night in bed with tomorrow's regrets waiting to hit them over the head and subject them to a slow, painful recollection of the nights activities, this time without the support of a liquid mood enhancer. 

I looked around and thanked God that the girl in the black dress and red heels, despite ignoring the nagging feeling that she was in a place she didn't belong; had, had a night she'd never forget, rather than one she couldn't remember. 

Dress - £12, Shoes - £20, Clutch - £8, Makeup - £15, Hair products - £10, Preparation time - 4 hours, Mood enhancer necessary to ensure a good time is had - £20, Taxi - £10, Entrance - £5, Mood re-enhancer - £10, The realisation that I agree to spend a small fortune every other weekend in order to conform to society's definition of what's fun, priceless...