„What a fucked up day!“, M∆RO muttered to himself, as he was roaming about the streets, armed with a bottle of booze, when on top of it all, it started to pour.
„I could really use a diversion“, he thought, after almost passing the entrance of the only nightclub in town.

Digging around in the left pocket of his coat, revealed crumby leftover pieces of half a pill, which he promptly washed down with a determined gulp of his cheap hooch.

M∆RO shuddered, gently placed the half-full bottle on the sidewalk, wiped his face clean, with his sleeve and concentrated on appearing somewhat sober, while passing the bouncer.
Inside, he was repulsed by the swirling crowd of euphoric cheerful people. Finally the attractive, but seemingly on the edge and miserable barmaid, got M∆RO the cocktail, he had ordered ages ago. He offhandedly tossed the exact change on the counter and eagerly reached for the pleasantly decorated drink, which he expected to ease his frustration.

But just before M∆ROs shaky hand touched the glass, the fellow right next to him jumps to a sweeping turn to greet his buddy. Unfortunately M∆ROs object of desire was in the range of motion of this testosterone driven salutatorian choreography, performed by these two party animals, and was ruggedly swept off the counter. Annoyed even more by their slurred apology, M∆RO uttered a „F**k it!“ and turned around to face the dancefloor and watch the hustle and bustle.

Suddenly the feverish swarm and those pulsing colorful lights appeared to calm down, awaiting instructions. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, M∆RO raised both hands and moved them in a forced perspective above the crowd, like a puppeteer. All the while whispering smugly under his breath: “Dance for Me, Dance for me!”