They’re on the dance-floor, hot and blurry from too many drinks. The alcohol is starting to make him sleepy, his eyes are feeling heavy-lidded and hard to focus. He gives in and closes them, moving to the music and happy to feel the heat of the young girl next to him. He thinks about when he should kiss her; he’s been wanting to for so long, been secretly in love with her. He opens his eyes, looks at her. Pushing his hair off his face, it is soaked with sweat; thinning and muddy blonde it exposes a high forehead, shiny and finely lined. His face is pasty white and doughy. Pink-rimmed eyes and pockmarked skin belie the late nights, his fondness for cigarettes and boozy weekends. It’s hard work keeping up with all his friends- a good decade younger they are able to party their nights away with no ill effect.
He sniffs and wipes his long sloped nose, the tip is crusted with tell-tale white powder- the remnants of their evenings excesses. His mouth is dry like cotton and he licks his lips, which feel thin and cracked, rough beneath his tongue. His mouth tastes sour and feels furry from the sugary alcopops. He can feel the bile beginning to rise up from his stomach, sloshed around by the movement of the dance-floor. He swallows it down, pulse racing, not wanting to vomit in front of the girl. Sweaty hands grab her hips as he leans in and motions towards the toilets. Drunk, she looks at him with hazy eyes; she doesn’t understand as he pushes unsteadily through the sticky crowd and disappears.
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