Garoo

So I spent the night at the Redlight. Arrived there a little after 1am, left a little before 4am. The club is perfect: large (yet full of people), air-conditioned (though in exchange the restroom’s faucets spit out hot water), the music is good (for me—I know some people who’d hate it). But the atmosphere is unbearable. Paumé had warned me: unattainable stars. If you don’t wear peroxyded spikes, branded sunglasses and a boxer waistband flashing in the black light, nobody sees you. I wear none of these, and I don’t intend to change my looks anytime soon, nor to play the star. (I prefer to be one, hah hah.) Not to mention that it’s far too much mixed (as in sexuality-mixed) and the only thing that can differentiate straights from gays is that the former have a girl in their arms. Not convenient (well, it sounds like it’s quite evident, but sometimes they let go of the girl, and then you can’t guess). Basically, the dancefloor lacks couples (and more) of guys making out. And the dancefloor also lacks illegal smokes (to the point that you can’t go to the restrooms without being interrupted by the anti-drugs watch).

Well, what’s important is that I’m able to go clubbing by myself, dance by myself, and not get too bored. Let’s say that if it had been the Scorp instead of the Redlight, I could have spent a good night. (Now the last step is trying out the Queen: should be just halfway between those two). Next time I’ll try drinking a bottle of orange juice just before, since free orange juice at will seemed to work better for me than water.

However, as far as fate goes… nothing to see. Absolutely nothing to tell. Except that I’ve been given two passes for next Saturday night, and you could consider that to mean my destiny will take its time and won’t express itself before I go back there next week. But right now, you see, I’m thinking more of throwing them away right where I found the previous one, to benefit my karmic balance and stuff.