Live a Little

‘Water!’ I gasped.

The barman couldn’t hear me, but he knew by the look on my face what I needed. He knew by the sweat rolling off my forehead, shining back the rainbow of lights overhead like petrol on the road.

I necked back my water and called for another. The sharp stab of ice in the back of my throat was heaven after the press of the dancefloor. I didn’t belong out there, in the Turkish bath of sweat and sambuca, where bodies writhed to a soundtrack of thudding kicks and cries of ‘Banter!’

I should have stayed at home, had some cocoa, gone to bed. ‘Go on, come out,’ they pleaded. ‘Live a little, you might enjoy it!’ How could anyone enjoy this?

I went back in to find my friends, to call it a night.

I told them I had work in the morning.

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