Bright Lights, Big City

You are a republic of voices tonight. Unfortunately, that republic is Italy.

You are on the anti-cline of the first rush. You are also experiencing the inevitable disappointment of clubs. You enter with an anticipation that on the basis of past experience is completely unjustified. You always seem to forget that you don't really like to dance. Since you are already here, though, you owe it to yourself to make a sustained assault on the citadel of the senses.

You notice for the first time that she has freckles. You didn't know they still made them.

... and what you are left with is a premonition of the way your life will fade behind you, like a book you have read too quickly, leaving a dwindling trail of images and emotions until all you can remember is a name.