Growin' Up Is Hard to Do

I can be quite charming when I want to be.  I have to be inspired.  Damn you creative make-up!

I went to dance.

I went to move without restraint and to ignore.  I like ignoring them.  It feels like satisfaction.

I skipped by coat-check and breezed to the bathroom.  Chipmunk bladder.

I was motivated.  It felt right and I moved to the wood without fear.  A little nervous maybe.

I could feel their eyes and then didn't care.  I was lost.  Gone.  Freed and mobile.  It was brief.

I spoke to someone I shouldn't have.  She, without remorse, did her best to make me feel like nothing.  When I confirmed for her her bias, I calculated sheepish humility and slight embarrassment on her chocolate cheeks.  Then I bolted.

Smack dab into the chest of the Italian owner.  And I mean Italian.  He was short, greased thick hair, over fifty.  He was turtle necked and blazer-d.  Typical.  Weird how I keep meeting real-life caricatures.

He would have given me everything I wanted for the rest of my life.  I could tell by one glance in his catholic boy eyes...there is nothing that I would have asked for that would have been off limits.  I was Helen Hunt to his Moe.  You get it or you don't.  Idiots.

I walked.  Speedily away.  There was a time in my younger days when I would have capitalized on this poor rube.  I declined after a brief friendly chat and then proceeded to book it.

Black tears rolled down my face in secret privacy.  Am I too old for this?  Why must my morals prevent me from flailing madly on a dance floor?  I would not have to sleep with him to get my way, he, after all, offered.

I don't know how to use my power for good.  At least for personal gain.  It makes me sick to play these games but you're all so easy.  Goddamn is it simple to keep you morons on and on and on.  I hate you.

I just went to dance.