It was a night of dancing and smokes filling the air and men and boys.
I became a cigarette again but I danced through it this time. A woman stepped on my shoe but she apologized, sincerely. The club was packed with Persians and Middle Easters and a few whites. The guys were having a good time, putting quite a bit of effort into their mimicked moves, huffing and puffing their disgustingly attractive cigarettes that almost made me choke. The women were…well they were themselves or rather replicas of themselves. Exotic, pitch black eyes, mascara, lipstick, high up-dos, leggings, hair bands, high heels, the usual. It’s superficial beauty when you wear all that make up. But make up is a routine that we have fallen for passionately, almost desperately to the point of not being able to go a day without it. But so what? Looking hot, beautiful, nothing wrong with that. Just be yourself. I will put myself in the same category of overdone eyeliner and mascara.
To be continued…due to my extreme fatigue.