Life in Ink and Footsteps

I have visited the city several times since arriving in America, but besides the Halloween party, I was never there at night. Clubbing is not really my forte; I don’t feel all that comfortable being surrounded by so many people. But I enjoy dancing, which is how the girls persuaded me to go. “Let’s go and dance all night! Don’t be boring, you have to experience a NYC club! It’s so much fun, and people are cool!” Yeah, yeah, sure. So one Saturday night, we went. Nordic Beauty S. met some promoter on Tinder and was casually seeing him, so he got us into one of the clubs he worked for. When I think about it, I don’t know what promoter actually means. What do they do? Do they literally promote the club and get people inside? Is it an actual job or just a fun hustle? Anyway, he was hot, and he skipped the waiting line outside and got us in. That much was true.

Inside was crazy. Crowded, and not in the “I can still move freely” kind of way. Everywhere you went, people bumped into you. The music was obnoxiously loud, some mixture of drum and bass. All I could hear was tuc, tuc, tuc with the rhythm of the flashing lights. Not really the type of dancing I had in mind. You know, it might have been better if I hadn’t convinced myself that it would be a pain in the ass. Looking back, I think I was the one to blame for the bad mood I was in. My mindset was not doing much for me that night. It didn’t help when both girls disappeared—S. to the promoter she was seeing, and Sunshine C. in search of some entertainment. I was left alone, so I sulked into the background. There was a stepped sitting area on one side, and that’s where I found my harbor. I just sat there and looked at the people.

Everyone was skinny and/or in shape, in extravagant and/or skimpy clothing with professionally looking makeup. In short, they were all really fucking hot. And most of all, drunk. Or high. I realized this was a big thing when I heard some girls talking in the toilets. So I spent the next few hours gloomily sitting on my step, texting with Sir MagicalCarpet and trying to persuade him to come to the city as well, to entertain me. Which he obviously declined.

Around 1 a.m., I had had enough and wanted to leave to catch a decent train back to Long Island. I don’t remember what time it left from Penn Station. Maybe around 2 a.m.? All I knew was, if we didn’t make this one, we would have to take the last train around 4:30. And there was no way in hell I was waiting another 3 hours to get on the drunken train. Fuck no. So I was a party pooper, found the girls, and tried to make them come home as well. They were both drunk. S. was so out of it that she could barely stand, and to this day, I wonder if her drink was spiked, because I have never seen her in such a state since. While Sunshine C. was somewhat agreeable, hottie S. got upset and didn’t want to go home yet. But here’s the thing. Good friends do not abandon their companions in a state like that. If she had been sober-ish and wanted to spend the night with the boy, sure, you’re an adult woman. But this was way over the line, and neither of us wanted to leave the Nordic beauty behind. So we dragged her between us to the station, even though she protested most of the way. But then she fell asleep the second she hit the train seat and was dead to the world the whole way. Not only that, but we couldn’t wake her up when we reached our destination. So we had to drag her between us outside and into the car. I drove them both home and finally reached my bed at 5 a.m.

While I did go to a club a few more times, I preferred places on Long Island, where people were a bit more real, there were fewer of them, and they played music I actually enjoyed.

Speaking of music. During the spring, a favorite band of our Nordic beauty was playing, and she desperately wanted to see them. Sunshine C. was out of town that week, but I had no plans, so I agreed to go. After all, it would be my first real concert. Beauty S. was mind-blown—how had I never been to a concert? I don’t even know, to be honest. I grew up nowhere near a big city, and most of the local concerts were bands my parents used to listen to, and I felt no need to see them. The only live music I ever saw was from small local bands at our small local gatherings. Besides that, nothing. Since I didn’t know the band she wanted to see for the next few weeks, all we listened to while driving around was The XX. And you know what? I fell in love with their music. I still listen to them—which is why their songs are repeatedly on my top 100 Spotify list.

They aren’t huge, and the concert was held in Forrest Hill Stadium, somewhere in Queens. The atmosphere was amazing, though. We had such a fun time, listening and singing to the performance while eating trash food. It was a beautiful late spring day, slightly too hot actually, and it felt like nothing could ruin the experience. Even when the woman in the row next to us vomited all over herself and some of the people in front of her. I guess booze and hot sun are not the best combination. We switched seats after that—the smell was unbearable. Still, even this couldn’t screw with my mood. I was an official fan of The XX, and their songs will always remind me of this phenomenal part of my life.

So, enjoy it with me.