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Shorter Story by Scott Waugaman |
I'd love it if my internal rhythms were jazzed and excited by the prospect of a hit of ecstasy and an all night rave. I'd be one of those guys who wears a choker. I'd have an amazingly fit body from all the hard dancing and light drugs. I'd have that far off look in my eye when I talk, as if I dreamed this conversation long ago. I'd have an amazing network of loosely connected dancing and drugging friends, all diligently kept track of on my cutting edge mobile phone with hip-beat-beat ringtone. I'd be so into dancing that many girls would mistake my enthusiasm for homosexuality. In life, I wouldn't talk so much. I wouldn't think so much. I would have one of those jobs that keeps me relaxed, in the loop, and in touch with the party vibe. Bar manager. DJ. Whatever. Or maybe I would just have a Mcjob during the day and make most of my money at night by selling drugs. In any case, people wouldn't think it was strange that I dyed my hair blonde, or that I wore ripped blue jeans, or that I had a friend named Moonboy . And eventually, I would attract one of those sly party nymphs that you often find at a rave-one of those girls who's smart but loose, and is excited more by a guy who knows how to party than a guy who could meet her parents. One of those girls who wears a seemingly conservative top with her casual jeans, only to reveal, as she throws her arms up in the middle of a dance, the ever so slight band of tanned midriff. One of those girls who knows she's sexy and doesn't give a fuck. One of those girls. |
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