Stupid Dance Party

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes.  Here is what I came up with.  I hope you like it.

I can remember exactly when it started.

“I don’t think this is real Ecstasy.”

We were in the back seat of Bobby’s car, driving back from Stupid Dance Party.  Well, to be clear, Bobby was driving.  The rest of us were way too drunk to do anything.  Foster’s Lager in cans that looked like mortar shells, while the girls drank g&t’s that glowed in the dark.

“I don’t think this is real Ecstasy.”

None of us were rolling.  Hell, we didn’t even know what rolling was, but we sure knew what Foster’s drunk felt like.  We were unadulterated Foster’s pissed with no MDMA frosting.

We got back to the house and Alex went on his tear.  Making people pay for fucking up the free market.  He was the one who scored Ecstasy in the first place, so he griping about getting ripped off.  I think he just liked saying ‘ripped off.’  Alex was a big fan of 1970s cop shows.

I went to bed at 5AM and woke up at noon.  Around 9AM, I got out of bed, went into the bathroom and took the most astonishing piss of my entire life.  It must have lasted about 15 minutes.

Not much in the way of classes that day, so I hung around the house and, later, went for a jog.

Alex got back from his polysci seminar all wound up pretty good.  He was determined to ‘fuck back’ the dealer who sold us the bum trip.  This was such a bad idea.  Alex was just a grab bag of bad ideas.  Earlier in the semester, he’d printed up some ‘counter posters’ for the Take Back The Night rally.  Bitched about men being second class citizens in the eyes of feminists. 

A few nights later, I was watching the St Elsewhere reruns, close to midnight, when Alex came in.  He looked moody and creepy, like he wanted people to think he was the villain in a movie.

Turns out he had gone into the projects near campus and bought some brass knuckles.

We went to Stupid Dance Party.  Alex wouldn’t remove his sunglasses despite the place being pitch dark.  He chewed on a toothpick and oozed into a filthy booth near the dancefloor.  A Rorschach blot on red vinyl.

A big dude from Germany, Antony, was drifting around, high fiving people.  He had frizzy blonde hair that looked like a halo under the black lights.  Alex, playing for the ‘cameras,’ rolled the toothpick around his mouth before getting up.

It took the ambulance a surprisingly brief time to arrive.  The cops were there, soon afterward.  By then, the bouncers had kicked Alex’s balls up into his pelvic cavity.  He was rolling around like a beetle on its back (the DJ played some Gang Of Four, that night.)  Antony’s girlfriend, Crazy Jane, was throwing pool balls around and threatening folks.

Alex and Antony went to different hospitals.

Alex got expelled and moved back to Boston.

Turns out this dude from Alex’s economics class on Von Mises had swapped out his Ecstasy with some European vitamins,  He took the real stuff to party up at Bard College,   

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