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and the night by Trey Printer Friendly

Evening blooms, full and heavy, hanging across a new york friday night.

The club. Expensive, full. Walk through the red velvet ropes and enter a place of po...

No that's not right...try again.

Friday night in the city. Possiblility hangs heavy across the night sky.

A club, velvet ropes and high end DJ's. Tenaglia tonight. On upteen top dj lists in umpteen trendy magazines...

Still not getting it, the bullshit filter obviously hasn't gone to bed. One more time...

The music pounds, smooth heavy beats sliding through my mind.

As I dance, I chance a look around, midriff shirts, tight pants, over styled hair, over thought looks.

I'm part of this. Tight white shirt, smooth black hat, opaque mirror shades, and I dance.

The world's greatest city, the city's greatest club, the night's greatest DJ. I look around.

Flashing lights, beautiful people dancing, sensous curving moves worked to sensous pounding sounds.

Tenaglia, spinning signature smooth beats.

I don't belong. Something's wrong.

I head to the smoking hall. Talking to a russian, a greek, an israeli.

Smoking scented black cigarettes. Offering to trade licks with some ex-middle eastern military tough. Taller than my tall self, certainly in better shape. He talks a big game. "I'll brake you, you won't be able to lifit you arm."

He's weak and I know it. Scared for some reason of this strange smoking Texan unafraid of pain, looking to feel something.

I want to feel, want to know that I'm here.

The thug walks away. I don't care. I light another smoke...

Broken. Lost in this city I no longer see.

6 years, 1000 clubs, 1000 nights, it all looks the same.

These beautiful people around me, dancing and moving to the beat of better dance music than most people will hear, and I don't care.

I realize, it's time. When you don't see the buildings, when the crowds cease to be an opportunity and become a hassle, when the music becomes something to work around looking for something real. It's time to leave. I've sucked the city dry, leaving nothing but the quick.

A stonger man might have done better, a better man might have been stonger, but as for me, it's time to go.

People come here chasing a dream. They rarely find it.

I came here seeking myself, and I found it.

Always with me.

Always there.


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