I’m tired. The flashing lights serve to annoy rather than stimulate. The music is too fast, not loud enough, not enough bass. I feel as though I am surrounded by enemies. I feel a tap on my shoulder. Behind me is a dishevelled man who yells something that sounds like “Where have you been?” at me, an inane, maniacal grin on his face, gesturing wildly, as an ape does. I feel violated. This is the second time this has happened tonight, and two times too many. Something in me snaps. I could hear the sound, and could visualise the two pieces falling to the ground. They hit and tumble away somewhere.
“We’re leaving.” I gesture with a quick sideways motion of the head to quell any further doubts about my intentions. “I’ve had enough. We’re leaving now. Right now.” It’s been a disappointing night.
Somehow, the thought of leading a nightlife weekly has seemed to lose all its charm. The streets and clubs seem to be filled with nothing but arrogant, coarse lowlifes, always with something to prove, seemingly. The epitomy of sleazy, festy nightscum at the bottom of society’s sink, proving to be dominant. Northbridge has already been overrun with street trash. Fremantle looks doomed to be the same.
It’s a pity. But I now have better things to do on a Saturday night.