clubbing - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I'm clubbing like this is my last night on Earth, but I think that's just the way my mind avoids thinking about the hangover to come. The music moves me like I'm a puppet on strings, my head mashing so hard my brain is in shut down mode. There's so much sweat on my skin and not all of it's mine. The strobe masks so many of my movements, every clap of my hands like it's on pause at different moments. Tomorrow they'll be hell to pay but tonight the alcohol keeps on flowing in like it's on IV drip.
In the club the good vibes flow like a virus, but a good one. There's love in the air, all hyped up and ready to give us a good time. Ivan weaves through the guys and girls like a pro, his smile wider than the golden gates; God I love that man.
Clubbing makes my synapses jump like beans in a tin. I couldn't be more alive if I was shouting from a mountain top. The music is a drug that brings me higher, higher until my mind buzzes with pure joy. I feel as if my soul will shine so bright my skin will start to glow, like my aura would become visible. But the night is so young, my limbs have so much energy I could dance for millennia and then some more.
Clubbing is a party every night. We slip in among the crowd, a bee line for the bar. A whiskey later I'm ready to move with the music, hands in the air, body moving like an uncoiling rope, eyes on fire. The joy is like a shot of adrenaline to the heart and all at once I'm moving, one with the music, one with every crazy person dancing in this place.
The club is electric tonight, everyone feeding off of the smiles and fast dancing. I could go like this all night long, feet moving to the crazy beat like they belong to the music. I move in my dress like my hips were made to sway, the sequins catching the disco ball light that twirls above - launching a every shade of the rainbow into the darkness.
No-one can see the dance floor, it's wall to wall people dancing to the club music. There's no room for any more but somehow when Candy and I hit it the space magically comes. The music is all nineteen nineties but we're dancing like it's jive, twisting, turning, holding hands as we change sides. We're all grins, we look like idiots and we don't care. Inside we're just happy, happy and more alive than we can ever be in school. I feel the part of me that's really me come out to play, to feel the vibe of the music and let my body go free. One moment, one brilliant feeling of togetherness suspended in time. In ten years I'll still remember tonight, I love the quiet life but I relish the crazy fun times. Music, friends, good times, dance. Then I can focus in class, learn the facts, be the good girl. Can I help it of my soul loves a kickin' beat?
All day long I've been sitting at this desk, paper work piling higher and higher. Save the trees, huh? I don't think the managers here have ever heard of that. The clock ticks on the wall and I swear it's slowing down. Sitting here alone makes me flatter than a week old glass of coke. Every time I don't have to think about the task at hand I'm already dancing, dancing in the club to music so loud it makes me deaf. I won't be alone either, the whole gang is coming. With that music, that beat, those crazy, crazy lights I know I'm alive, I'm real, and reality is awesome. By the end of the night I'm quite drunk, I should cut back but who's counting? We leave arm in arm, wobbling down the lamp-lit alley to hail a cab. The next day I check out the photos and laugh my ass off. Those girls are so precious. They get me through. I love'em.
In the dark of the club all I had seen was his high cheekbones and mischievous eyes. He danced like no-one was watching, but of course they all were. He just hadn't cared. We had jived and boogied to rave music like it was thirty years previously, every move a throw back to an era that had belonged to our grandparents. At the end of the night we had burst through the doors in to the artificial glow of street-lamps, staggering, failing to hail a taxi. In the charcoal of almost-dawn we had arrived at my apartment and fallen into bed; asleep before we had time to get frisky, or at least I think that's what happened. In the late morning sunlight that streams through the blinds as if they weren't really there at all I can see his face bares the pock-marks of teenage acne. There is still some pinkness to it from the scars. Otherwise he is tanned, but I suspect it is natural rather than sun-induced. With that black hair he has a Greek look. Before I can fix myself up his eyes crack open ...