The other night I was walking back to my car and I heard dance music thumping out of a club. It was a song I had never heard before but I recognized the beat, the rhythm. The door of the club opened and voices sprang out, the bustling echo of strangers meeting for a night, probably never again.
I stopped at my car. This was life another lifetime ago, weeks on end of cheap cologne and done up hair and dress shirts and twenty dollar bills. A strange rush of nostalgia swept over me as I remembered nights of mindless grinding on a dirty dance floor and introducing myself to people I’d never remember, sweating all over and not caring.
I couldn’t help but laugh in that parking lot about all those stupid friends doing stupid things together. I admit, right then I missed it. My feet almost moved that direction. I was tempted to see what had changed, how it was now, if I could slide back into the frantic madness of that scene. I got in the car and told myself, I’ve moved onto a better thing, but I wondered if I really believed that. I wondered if by having chosen this new life I was missing out on something.