A quick and normal visit

It's Thursday night, around 9 PM, and I find myself back at the club. It's been a while since my last visit. There's a slight drizzle outside, but inside, the club still has that arid, sultry vibe. In the corner sits this kind-hearted, bald-headed old man with his cookie container. He's a reminder that despite the hustle and bustle, actually nothing has really changed. That's his spot. Actually, it's a pretty good spot in this small club, where you can see everything clearly. Spending every day here might not be so bad, just watching the young, pretty girls. But another thought, if you see him often, it means he sees you too. It makes me wonder, will I end up as lonely as he is, if I’m lucky or unlucky enough to reach his age? What's his story? There was a month when I came here more often (usually I stayed less than 1 hour), and most of the time, he was there with a box of handmade cookies. Sometimes girls would sit with him, but often, he was alone. H says he's a nice guy, bringing cookies he made himself to girls. I rarely see him getting lap dances. What's the point then? His old red car gave the same feeling.

I spent six bucks plus tip on a beer, standing near a pillar. I'm not a fan of the dim pink lights in the club. They give off an unreal vibe, and you can't see clearly. I tend to notice the surroundings more than the stage. There are about eight or nine girls working tonight, mostly slim white girls. I only know S, and she's here too. I like her figure, a bit more on the fuller side wouldn't hurt. There are about seven or eight customers. S comes over and sits with me, but it's kind of awkward sitting together when both of us aren't great at small talk. I ask her what she likes to talk about, and she says she usually chats about whatever the customer wants. Not liking the silence, I invite her for a dance. During these songs (25 per plus tip), I feel more at ease and better at expressing myself in touching and watching. A nice figure usually means pleasant company. What’s the point of building fake attachment with small talk while we can just admire the youth and beauty.

After saying goodbye to S, I don't linger. I finish my beer and leave the club to face the reality of life back home. Somehow, life just quiets down as we grow older. It becomes numb. Sometimes, I light a bunch of small fires, just watching them burn.