Twenty to Two

Listen to this while reading this. And if you don’t have it,
buy it.

nobody finds the one but keep looking

She looked on as the hot, writhing crowd slowly atomised and paired off, dancers already bathed in one kind of afterglow.

He watched on with a sinking heart as his friends one by one sought out counterparts of the same approximate level of attractiveness as them and made their excuses. Some euphoria. In a room so full of people that their body heat made his skin hot to the touch, in the middle of a city of six million people, he was all by himself.

Where had her friends gone? In a room full of people doing the same thing to the same beat she was moving to a jerky rhythm of her own. She felt lonely. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.

There was that boy again, sipping beer by himself, looking lost and sticking out like a sore thumb. And yet still ... he did stick out. He’d kept turning up all night. He was tall and handsome. And he’d not once sleazed on to her or asked her if it hurt when she fell from heaven.

There was that girl again. Somehow her face cut through the crowd, like hearing a whisper slice through the din. He’d seen her at the bar but she was too cool and too pretty for him to even reasonably countenance standing near her, let alone speaking to her. She was an amazing dancer. He couldn’t dance; but he’d been pulling shapes in his head all night.

Was he looking this way? She could feel herself blush. Great, he’d definitely notice her now, shining away like a stupid red beacon like a stupid fucking loser.

Was she looking this way? No, she couldn’t be. But just in case: act casual, look cool. Great, his stupid gangly limbs wouldn’t obey him. It was like trying to paint a portrait with a yard broom. His dad could dance better than this.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

She stepped forwards.