scent of cologne and failure
my clubbing era was short-lived. most of my acquaintances would uhn-tiss their way through their twenties. some even staggered well into the thirties under the same strobe lights. me? just a quick blast during the dawn of twenty-one, then i vanished.
reason being? bathroom etiquette. the men's room is meant for drainage, not dialogue. yet there i'd be, mid stream getting a tap on the shoulder from some stranger asking me if i was down. i mean, sure, probably, but not here.
and then there was my best friend. my wingman. couldn't wait in the line of three. unzipped, leaned over the sink, and let it loose right there. it was nights like those, i knew, that i'd age out early.