We danced all night. By morning my feet were sore and pinched, my muscles aching. I could still feel the thumping music in my head. We walked out of the after hours club into the blinding sunlight black tie and gown crumpled with dried and new sweat.
The evening had started romantically. A bistro with pale pink linens and sage and yellow centerpieces. They served tiny entrees on huge white plates. The wine went straight to my head.
From there, we went to clubs to dance. You knew the DJ so we went right in. We met up with your friends. At 3 AM, we walked as a group, rowdy and clumsy along the river to the Treble Note to listen to Jazz in a dark basement room while we sipped on tea and leaned back on velour couches. We left some time after sunrise.
I felt drunk and sober, exhausted and energized.
“Breakfast?” You asked.
“Yes,” I said.
The sidewalk felt crumbly and rough under my feet after so many hours gliding on smooth dance floors. I was giddy and wired on exhaustion. Simply walking made me giggle.
“Why are you laughing, Doll? ”
“Nothing really, just the ground.”
“Ah, yes,” you agreed, looking at the sidewalk. Then you laughed too. “It is ridiculous,” you said. “The way it just stays there.” We laughed and hailed a cab. I leaned against you in the back seat, my head against your chest. I was half asleep, the bumps of the street briefly shaking me awake enough to remember the night, your arms and the music.
When we arrived we climbed the stairs and left our clothes in piles on the couch, crawling sweaty and hungry into bed as the sun lit the room.