was in that club beneath the train bridge. They turned the music up extra loud to drown out the sounds of the trains passing overhead. I could barely hear you over the rush of noise when you leaned close and said follow me to the bathroom but I could read your lips and so I did.
Of course the bathroom had one of those awful, stern attendants that is paid to enforce the bathroom rules and she said we better not go into the stall together or she would have us kicked out. I wanted to pull a face at her because I thought she was being awfully unfair – we didn't intend to go in there and do drugs. Although I had never met you so, perhaps you did intend for us to go in there and do drugs. I guess I’ll never know. I just wanted to taste you and indulge in the awful pleasure of a bathroom hookup.
What has the world come to that we aren't allowed to do drugs or hook up in the bathroom anymore? What is the point of going to the club to stay sober and touch no one. The worst kind of night out is one in which I have to get blindingly drunk and go home and touch myself. Thanks to the miserable faced bitch in the bathroom it was that kind of night. You gave me your number but it took me so long to call it. I kept thinking about you, the scent of your warm breath against my face. The way you looked under those blinding lights.