Bad decisions compounded by sitting at the edge of a stage with a frosty Modelo and scribbling in a pocket notebook about the song choices the dancer has picked for her dances. A languid flow that slows time— there’s a smooth edge to everything as I can’t look away from her leopard print singlet. I don’t think I should have walked in the door, but now I’m wondering how someone decides which songs to dance to. Questions of style mirror the dancer as both spin before me.

***

I sit in the middle of a red leather booth, my hands planted on either side of me. Entranced rather than aroused. She presses her body against mine— the weight of her moving slowly as her hands pass over my hand and onto my chest. There isn’t space to speak as every turn compresses my focus into a singular existence. I want to ask questions about her style— about how someone can be so at odds with the style of others around them.

I speak at the end, but my tongue is heavy with wonder. I thank her for the dances and know that my appreciation is in the craft, not in an illusion of attraction. I wonder at this growing trend I’ve found in myself: the multiplication of destructive behavior spurred by a glaring lack of intimacy. I wonder if I’m crossing beyond— to a place that I won’t be able to return from without trouble.

I return to an empty condo— briefly being held up at the gated entrance to the garage as a white tesla makes me show my key fob before letting me in. There’s a juxtaposition between my 2002 Forest green Ford Windstar and the rest of the high value vehicles in the garage. I’m aware of the divide as the same couple holds the elevator door for me as I hurry to grab my groceries from the back seat. I laugh that I don’t blame them for being suspicious and they respond that they didn’t want another $100 fine from the HOA. We agree to let the matter settle and I step off at the sixth floor.

I walk inside, adjusting the thermostat and unloaded a laden grocery bag with seltzer waters, eggs, and beer. I had been good with the turn of the new year, but already I’ve had a moment of impulse that stretched an entire night. I’ll reactivate a dating app and swipe without feeling. I’m far away from the heavy air that lingered between myself and Silver at the club. I’m a long way from anything at all.