Sotally Tober

Read the subject line until you get it, it's funny.Chirp-poppy voices lilting to the light-up scroll on the dirty screen, misguided attempts at jerking your body along to the music, chairs surprised by the burden of the sudden collapse of people standing before them with the best of intentions to ignore gravity, but without the capacity to meet those intentions. Sloppy wet floors that would spread with rolling blue flame at the drop of a match. Confused bodies rubbing, bumping, bobbing, jumping. No one will remember the details later, no one will care. Now is for the buzz. The keg dies early, the caterers pack up and go before most people are finding their sea legs, but, hey, we're here, there's a bar nearby, let's go.It's cozy and warm and the wood is dark. Charming bartender, king of all he surveys, he barely has to raise his voice for Last Call. Maybe it's just that Yuppies are quiet. Stumble out into the cold. What cold? I'm fine. There's a cabbie nearby that hears us a half a block away discussing the need for him. It must be three in the morning, if he heard us. Get home quick, chatter, flop, sleep.Wake to fuzzy light, the need for water and coffee, and quiet.