Drizzled Stranger
A poem "Last time I was free, I was in Mexico City."
Summer 2024.
Mexico City.
It's 2am, and my night is only just starting. The heat of the club is subsiding and the breeze and eyes and clear and open. I shake and jolt and jump and the music fills my bones and oozes out of my ears. The world is spinning, and I with it. The rubber underneath my boots screech and burn and I drag and twist my feet and around the dance floor. Erin is there: our synchronized steps dissipate across the floor and sync our energy with a god-like glow.
The fills of the music quieten and close the gap between mine and hers. Smaller. Quieter. Smaller. Quieter. Until there's nothing left. We’re one now. Dance, dance, dance, dance, release ourselves to the music and forget the pretense-of-strangers, fluorescent flashings, and the couple making out close-by. The stage is now ours – streaked with booze-carrying attendants, ants, and on-watching trios and quartet.
On edge of my visual periphery, a drink-swindler from earlier in the night peeked, caught, then swiveled in shame.
This was the last time I was free, and I was in Mexico City.
Great experience visiting Mexico City!