We ordered drinks from a curvy, but somehow unattractive blonde behind the green countertop and then found a seat in a maroon vinyl booth in the corner. The lights were set down real low, and there was an artificial mist hovering in the air. On the dance floor in front of us there were people dancing as if they were having the best time. I could smell and feel the congealed mixture of sweat, perfume, and hairspray. People in these situations always seem so happy. I wondered if I was lacking the ability to hear certain frequencies. Maybe I couldn't here the happy-inducing frequency they broadcast in nightclubs. Maybe I was missing out on this late-night bliss due to a physiological defect. Who knows. Others sat at the bar and tried to get to know one another over the deafening music blaring through the speakers. Some, all men, sat bobbing their heads to the music on the outskirts of the dance floor with a beer in one hand and the other in their pocket.
“Mate, there are some birds here, mate, serious birds. Let's go dance, come on!”
The Englishman had had more than a few and was now apparently excited to exercise his freedom. I knew the two of them. They would head to the dance floor, look at a lot of women, try to get the courage to go over to them, and then come back to the booth with more drinks. But, I couldn't blame them. He was free, after all. The academic looked at him, “Should we go?”
He was sniffing his index finger and when he finished he extended it straight out. I don't think he even realized he was doing it.
“Let's go.”
The academic and the Englishman went on the floor, while the HYP and me stayed behind. I didn't want to talk, especially over the happy-inducing noise I apparently could not hear correctly.
I sat in as deep of thought as you can in a place like that. I watched people move, meet, and smile. I watched a couple kiss sloppily on one corner of the dance floor. She was wearing a red halter top and very tight jeans, along with the shiniest black shoes I have ever seen. His striped pink button-up was now one button undone too many and his hair was not in the pristine condition it probably had once been in only a few hours earlier.
Is this what they came for?
Is this why we came?
Is this why I came?
What would be considered success in this situation?
Would they kiss like this and then say goodbye?
Would success be a phone number?
Maybe the would go back to someone's “home” and continue this interaction? Maybe success would be getting lucky? Is this why they came—did they come to cum? Would cumming equal success? How much is $100 really worth? As I continued to watch them it almost seemed like they grew further and further apart—they were moving away from each other but were always within reach. There limbs stretched into elongated masses, clinging to one another as their disproportionately small bodies and heads moved further and further from each other. The closer they tried to get to one another—the more voracious their passion became—the larger the separation was between them. I didn't know how they were still keeping contact. Finally, their deformed bodies overlapped at only one harried location and it seemed to take all of their strength to not let go.
“Stop staring, man” The HYP smirked, looking like he wanted to converse. I looked up to respond, but my housemates returned with more bottles of cold liquid.
“Fuckin birds, mate, I dance with a couple, make eyes at some—but what am I supposed to say?”
“I might go home and do some work,” the academic, discouraged and disheveled, was ready to call it a night.
After a bit, I went to the bathroom while the boys went to get more bottles. I didn't piss on my belt or anything, but I did flush the toilet with my foot. It didn't seem like something I wanted to touch with my bare hands. When I returned the HYP was talking to two girls at the table next to us: one incrediby petite blond with huge diamond earings and a squeaky voice, and a taller, slender brunette with dark jeans and a black top that didn't hide much. “This is January, like the month, and Tonya. Girls, this is my friend.”
“Hi,” I said with a forced smile. Just then the boys returned with the liquid and were also introduced to the month and Tonya.
“So, what's the deal? Are you going to join us or not?” The professor asked. Despite his disturbing views of women and sex, his confidence was admirable. Where did it come from? How did he believe in himself—his reason—so easily? Maybe he didn't have an abyss, I thought. Maybe I am missing the part that allows you to hear the happy frequency and he is lacking an abyss. I wasn't sure I wanted either.

“Sure we will. Let us go find our friends and we'll be right back.”
“Don't be long,” he shot back with a smile on his face.
“Mate, we are in there. Nice. Nice going. What did you say? Mate, don't know how you do it.”
The Englishman couldn't hide his excitement, and even the academic looked optimistic.